Midnight Mossflower 2: Fire and Brimstone
by Redwall Survivor Contestants
Summary: The sequel to the much loved survivor fanfiction. Join a motley crew of characters on a journey to Mossflower and beyond, while an evil created by the Professor lurks in the shadows. Don't forget to vote on our homepage!
1. Prologue Pt 1: Fire and Brimstone

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

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**Prologue (Pt. 1): Fire and Brimstone**

_by Stonewall_

Captain Grall frowned as yet another seemingly expensive goblet first cracked in his grip, and then further crumbled into shards. Wiping the ashy remnants from his paws, the weasel shook his head at his companion. "Nope."

Divot grumbled, prying open a singed chest, discovering a mass of scorched linen within. "Can't say I'm surprised. Don't s'pose there's a blessed thing in this place that's not burnt or turned to dust."

Shrugging, Grall sorted through the discovered linen, failing to discover anything salvageable. "Pitts says he found some extra silverware in what he guesses was the dining room, and he reckons he's found the kitchens, so we'll have to see what he comes up with."

The rat was not impressed. "And what'd we find, the place where they dumped the dust after sweeping?"

Grall shook his head, pointing at the burnt-out frame of a bed. "Some beast's room, likely as not. Don't suppose we'll find anything of much worth here."

"Some beast's room, ye say?" laughed Divot, producing a small amount of weaponry from the closet. "Funny sort of thing to keep at bedside."

"Depends on who you expect to show up." Finding nothing in the room resembling the description of "valuable" as posed by the Chief, Grall and Divot exited back into the hall.

The weasel captain was glad to see that his similarly red-armoured underlings were not being idle while he wasn't looking. Vermin of various species were scouring the fire swept floor, ducking in and out of rooms, and, more often than not, coming back empty pawed.

Divot sneered, watching a pair of stoats trying to decide if the blackened canvas of a painting still bore enough original art to be considered worth anything. "This is a fool's errand, make no mistake."

Grall shook his claw warningly at the rat. "Careful there, Divot. That's our Chief's judgement you're coming close to questioning."

Remembering that he was in the presence of a Captain, Divot tempered his language. "Course, isn't my place to judge, but sending us off to find treasure in a burnt-out castle? This place is older than the hills, and has probably been an ash-house just as long."

Rubbing his chin, Captain Grall scratched first at the stone wall, and then through the blackened wood of an oddly placed nightstand. "Difficult to say. The castle's old, and that's for certain. But the furniture isn't rotted underneath the burnt bits, and not a great deal of cobwebs or such hanging about. I'd place it at about six or nine seasons, give or take, since the fire." Not to mention, the weasel noticed as an afterthought, that the floors were very clean. The furniture was in disarray, the walls could use a scrub, but the floors were quite tidy.

Grall took a silver whistle from around his neck and gave it a sharp blow. In an instant, a small crowd of red-armoured soldiers assembled, most of them with grey smudges on their faces and clothes. Placing his paws behind him in a bid to look officious, the weasel put on his best commanding face. "All right, report, you lot."

The embarrassed glances a few of the vermin were trading told Grall a great deal of what he already knew. "Er, well, Cap'n," a stoat finally piped up, "not a whole lot on this floor. A few skeletons here and there. Anything of value's long since burnt, though."

With no small amount of excitement, a fox raised his paw. He had been waiting for some beast to give bad news so that his report would be all the more impressive. "It looks like the fire didn't carry all the way up the stairs, and the second floor is in good shape." The beaming soldier was the proud recipient of a unanimous glare from his comrades.

That was a pleasant development. "Right, then. We'll check up there next." Noticing more than a few unhappy glances, the weasel added, "Unless you'd all like to go back to the Chief _without_ anything valuable."

There was an immediate and distinct absence of discontent grumbling.

"Good. Now hop to it."

Divot watched as the soldiers shuffled over to the staircases. "Seek out the treasures of the world," he scowled, recalling one of the main doctrines of the Red Fire Army. "I sometimes can't wonder if we're following a warlord or an absolute..."

"An absolutely fantastic leader whom we are lucky to have," Grall quickly interrupted, looking over his shoulder. You never knew when some beast was just waiting to listen in on mutinous talk.

Divot was less concerned than his comrade. "Say what you will, but Francis is a flaming..."

"A flaming beacon in a world of darkness, boy, aren't we lucky?" said Grall, glaring at Divot. Honestly, was the rat _trying_ to see how much trouble he could get them into? "And it's Chief Francis Moonshot, thank you." The weasel couldn't help but grimace in spite of himself. It really was a silly name, the Chief... well, the Chief could be a little silly at times.

Divot growled. "Will you stop that?"

"Will _you_ stop that?" Grall returned. "You're not supposed to talk about the Chief behind the Chief's back."

The rat was unimpressed. "Why are you so concerned about backing a weasel who brought us this far north, in the middle of winter, so we could rummage through old castles to find baubles to tickle his fancy?"

"Because this place isn't the goal, stupid," said Grall, sticking his tongue out. "The Chief says there's a better deeper inside the woods. It's got all kinds of valuable things, and comfortable to boot." The weasel omitted the Chief's mentioning that the red walls would really bring out their matching uniforms superbly.

"We oughtn't be fiddling about with nick-nacks anyways. If there were a _real_ beast leading this horde..."

"As opposed to a _fake_ beast, hm?"

Had Grall not been as surprised as Divot at the unexpected appearance of Chief-of-Staff Cromley, he would have said, "Nyah, nyah, told you so!" As it was, the best he could spit out was "Lord Cromley, sir! Um, how are you today?"

"Comfortably passable," the wildcat clicked in precise annunciation. His yellow eyes shone brightly out of his pudgy features, boring a hole through Divot's mind as he regarded the rat. "And how are _you_ today, Mister Divot? Cynically dubious?"

Staring down though he was at a fat, elderly cat, wrapped up in his heavy coat so that he looked like a massive dust ball, Divot could not fight the knowledge that _he_ was the only intimidated individual in this conversation. "Er," he said, trying to remember what the self righteousness he had been experiencing just a minute before had felt like. "Not, er, not really in those words..."

"Of course," nodded Cromley, fatherly understanding in his voice. "Cynicism conjures up such negative imagery. Perhaps you would prefer 'sceptically malcontent?'"

It didn't seem to Divot that this sounded any better than the first, but correctly assumed that was the point. "It's not a matter of malcontent," he corrected, going on the defence. "It's just recognizing a few realities..."

"What if there were a real beast leading this horde, Divot?"

"Sir?"

Cromley prodded the rat in the stomach with his cane. "Your lack of focus is disappointing, Divot. You were discussing the subject of command not thirty seconds ago." Taking a small book and stick of charcoal from the lining of the immense coat, Cromley spoke aloud as he wrote. "Divot shows difficulty in maintaining a sound mind. Likely due to an excess of hard drink."

The rat held his paws before him in helpless frustration. "I haven't touched..."

"_Still_ not answering the question, Mister Divot."

Flustered, Divot spoke slowly to ensure he didn't say anything else to get in more trouble than he already was. "Captain Grall and I were discussing..."

"I wasn't discussing anything!" Grall interrupted hastily, paying no heed to the glare he was receiving from the rat. There was no way he going down with this sinking ship.

Effectively on his own, Divot continued. "I was... wondering about the good of hanging about in this castle, or these woods, in the winter. Doesn't seem the best choice." The stone faced cat said nothing, indicating the rat was to continue. Hardly comforted by this extra podium time, he said, "I don't think... that is, the Red Fire horde might be better off finding a place to hunker down in this weather, rather than searching for treasure." Cromley still did not cut him off. Personally, the rat had hoped the cat would incite argument, at least to stoke the fires of militancy. As it was, Divot felt like a pupil perpetually failing to answer the arithmetic problem posed by his tutor. "And that's it," he lamely ended, feeling more stupid than rebellious.

Mercifully, the Chief of Staff took up the conversation. "I see. So you do not wish to pursue the further searching of this castle in compliance with Chief Moonshot's wishes?"

Captain Grall had already decided that the next words spoken would be, "Then you'll never search for anything again!" followed by a quick stabbing noise. For his part, recognizing that things were bound to go downhill anyways, Divot truthfully said, "Aye, sir."

Clawing at his cane ominously, Cromley defied Grall's expectations by nodding. "Very well." The soldier duo waited another five seconds of deathless interlude before their hearts resumed beating. Obviously somewhat pleased with the anxiety he was causing his underlings, the cat fought back a wrinkly smile of mischief. "I see no reason to have you continue a duty to which you have no investment in. If seeking for treasure is not to your liking, than I shall post you as lookout by the gates."

Divot bit his lip ponderously. There was the hint of logic in Cromley's words, indicating it wasn't necessarily a feint of false security. "Aye, I could do that, sir."

Cromley pointed down the burnt hallway with his cane. "I shall lead you to your guard, then." Grall shuddered as the yellow lasers found their mark on him. "Do you desire to air grievances of your own, Captain Grall?"

Doing everything in his power to avoid scrambling away on all fours, the weasel smacked his helmet in a hasty salute. "Not me, sir!" he said, shaking his head so fast that his armour rattled. "No, no, not a complaint in the world. Happy as a clam. And busy! Very, very busy. No time to talk, have to check on Pitts' crew. Toodle-oo. I mean, good bye. Um, really have to go." Not liking the clucks of disapproval the cat was making as he began to jot into his book, Grall decided to cut his losses and disappeared into the once dining room.

Leaning on the impenetrably safe walls, Captain Grall sighed in relief, the open sores caused by Cromley's drilling glare beginning to heal. The soldiers trying to life the great oak dining table (surprisingly in good condition) paused to stare in surprise at their breathless captain. Regaining some of his composure, the weasel silently mouthed the word "Cromley." This was explanation enough, and after one or two paranoid peeks at the ajar door, the salvage gangs went back to their work.

Pitts didn't seem to share Grall's consternation. Smiling as he emerged from the flight of stairs in the corner, brushing aside the blackened remnants of the curtain cover, the fox greeted the weasel. "Ahoy there, Captain Grall. You look a fright."

Feeling slightly better, Grall stood up straight, checking his paws to ensure they were no longer shaking. "I've been better," he conceded.

Pitts produced a small box, flipping open the cover to display a grainy, chestnut brown powder. "You might try some of this, then. Found it laying about near the kitchens. It'll give you a bit of a kick."

Accepting a small portion of the powder, Grall swallowed it in a hurry, providing Pitts with great amusement as the weasel's eyes bugged out and he began to cough harshly. "Pyah! That'll do _something_ to you, all right. Eyugh!"

"Woke you up though, didn't it?" consoled the fox, placing the powder box onto the top of the dining table (the crew had given up trying to lift the thing, and were now challenging the chairs).

Now trying to settle an energetic twitch in his right paw, Captain Grall turned the topic back to business. "So you found the kitchens, then?"

The fox nodded. "The kitchens and a whole lot else. The basement is in decent condition. Suppose the dampness must've helped stopping anything catching fire."

"Anything valuable?"

"Nothing in the kitchens. We wrapped up..." A shrill yell, cut off almost as it began, tore through the mortuary-like silence, causing the soldiers to drop everything in a panic. "What in the blue blazes was that?"

Recognizing that the scream had emanated down the main hall, probably near the gatehouse area, Grall had a fairly good idea. "Likely, it's old Cromley killing Divot."

Pitts shuddered. "I can't stand that cat. He gives me the heebie-jeebies."

"Stow that talk, what do you think got Divot offed?"

"I'm just saying he frightens me, and I should think that would make him happy more than anything. As I was saying, we finished searching the kitchens. Nothing there that would please the Chief overmuch. I've sent the rest of the lads to take a more thorough look around."

Grall was thankful for the news that the basement had survived as well. It was good to know that not everything was reduced to a crisp. "Right then, you'd best carry on."

The fox laughed in Grall's face. "Not a chance, my good weasel. I've spent the better part of the morning inhaling dust and lifting furniture. I'm going for a breath of fresh air."

Annoyed that everyone today seemed to forget he was a captain, Grall placed his fists on his hips. "No one's on break until I say so. I want this job done as quick as possible so we can get out of this creepy place."

"Well nuts to that, because I'm beat." Pitts grinned in defiance as the weasel began to wag a claw with authority. Both creatures' thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakeable sound of a cane on stone, steadily approaching the dining room. Quickly opening the powder box, Pitts gulped down a pawful of the grains, allowing the shudder to run the full length of his body. "Well, that's cured that. Best get back to work!"

"And I'll join you," added Grall, actually beating the fox to the stairwell. Both beasts heard the dining room door creak open behind them, but dared not look back as they descended into the castle's basement.

Grall couldn't see a great deal as he padded down the stairs, the only luminescence available being provided by whatever torches Pitts' crew had provided and scattered amongst the halls. Shadows seemed to be the predominant attraction, which would begrudgingly permit other sights to appear only when the odd spasmodic flicker of flame disrupted the status quo. What the weasel Captain could make out, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, was that the walls were devoid of ornamentation, and the dampness has produced moss within the cracks. And yet, though the floor was also similarly stone, there was a distinct absence of any growth whatsoever: no mould, no pools of water, no cobwebs.

"Can I ask you something?" said Grall, the echoes reverberating off the cave-like walls.

"Hm?"

"Do the floors seem... clean to you? More than they ought, I mean."

Pitts blinked in confusion at the question, staring at the ground as if he'd never seen it before. "Huh," he finally said, followed by a disinterested shrug. "C'mon, now. If it makes you happy, I'll throw some dirt around." True to his word, the fox took the box of brown powder and dumped it on the floor, shifting it with his foot for extra mess. "Satisfied?"

"Not really." The conversation went no further, for Pitts was walking away whether Grall was satisfied or not, forcing the weasel to follow regardless.

With no small amount of tripping and stumbling thought the corridors, Pitts lead his Captain to what he indicated as a "Storage room, I do believe." The mass of crates and boxes clustered about seconded this conclusion. Waving a paw over at a glowing orange spot deep in the room's corner, the fox called, "Hoy, there, Hunter! Found anything yet?"

The orange glow approached the pair, and with it another fox appeared out of the dark. "What haven't I found?" he replied, gesturing with his torch at the expanse of packing. "Take a look in that!"

Pitts obliged, lifting the lid of an ajar box. "Oy!" he mumbled in awe, unable to find more suitable words to express finding a velvet robe, diamonds imbedded in the neck. "Now what's a thing like this doing down here?"

Grall was finding difficulty in controlling his gaping jaw. "Now if that doesn't make the Chief happy... wonder what's in the rest?" Eagerly, the weasel pried open another crate, his hopes of finding more treasure coldly dashed with the discovery of a mouse's skeleton, crammed uncomfortably inside. "Bloody rabbit eared snargles!" the weasel screamed, tipping backwards in a clattering heap.

"Told ye I found a bit of everything," said Hunter, obediently helping his fallen Captain back to his feet. "And it gets stranger than that."

Pitts couldn't help but smile, donning his much preferable prize. "Not your day, is it, Captain? Never mind, you can keep the next nice coat we find."

"You manage to get that past Cromley and it's all yours," reminded Grall. This place was dangerously close to breaking his nerve altogether, and found himself almost wishing he had seconded Divot's discontent earlier. "Now, what do you mean, it gets stranger than that?"

The fox eyed Grall with concern. "Ye certain yer up for more surprises, sir?"

"No, but I'd best hear it anyways."

Trying to find the best way to explain this, Hunter started, "Well, it's like this: I've done some looking around, and it looks like we've got a mix in here of old treasures and dead bodies."

Grall scratched his ears. "Doesn't look like much of a tomb."

"I don't reckon it's meant to be, sir. It's storage, unless some beast wanted to be buried with boxes of extra forks and some mops."

Gulping, the weasel shook his head. "Then why stick dead bodies in here?"

"Keep things neat and tidy?" Pitts offered.

"Now that's cold, sticking ones' mates with the mops."

"Well, maybe the undertaker was out on holiday and they were being saved for a better time."

"Long sort of holiday. They're all bones now."

Hunter coughed into his paw, which did nothing for Grall's confidence. "Well, this one is, anyways. Er, if ye'll just come this way..." With no small feeling of dread, the weasel allowed himself to be led to another box. As expected, there was another dead body inside. However, this one still had traces of skin, fur and muscles clinging onto the bones, the entrails laid bare.

"Oh, heck," grimaced Pitts. "What are you trying to do, Hunter, other than kill my appetite?"

Equally disgusted, Grall caught on to the point of the display. "This one hasn't been dead as long as the other."

"Right," agreed Hunter. And if ye'll pardon me one more time..."

"Bet you it's another dead body," Pitts mumbled.

It proved to be a correct assumption, but the pre-empting did nothing to quell the shock. For this time, there was not bleeched skeleton, but an otter, more or less a young adult, fur and face intact, and the proud owner of three dark red gashes going the length of his chest to the navel. Whatever other faults he had, Grall had keen observational skills, and he couldn't help but notice a slight glisten inside the wounds, indicating the blood and bodily fluids had not had time dry out. Also, the blood stains within the box were still a relatively bright shade of red, not yet dulled to a brown crust. "This bloke's not been dead for more than a day."

The silence and shadow of the basement only served to increase the volume of the vermin's imaginations, the thought of bogeymen lurking in the corners having become a very real possibility. "Oh, heck," Pitts managed to choke out. "You mean to say this otter has only _just_ kicked it?"

Remembering that he was a Captain, and therefore obliged to set a good example in times of danger, was the only thing stopping Grall from dashing back up the stairs. "Not only..." he squeaked, coughing gruffly before continuing. "Not only that, but these wounds aren't made by any regular weapon. Not clean enough. I'd have to hazard that these are claw marks."

"And what kind of beast has claws that can carve up an otter like that?"

"Badger! Help!"

The unwanted identification reverberated off the cold basement walls, causing all three beasts to jump in shock. Being the first to identify that the cry had not originated within the storage room, Hunter was also able to announce, "Sounds like Grubby! Hellgates, a badger?"

Pitts had a solution. "Quick, while he's distracting it! Let's run!"

"We can't just leave him!"

"No, I really think we can!"

Wishing he had just stayed in bed, Grall made what he was certain was the wrong decision. "There's three of us and one of him. If we jump it, we might take it by surprise."

"We're talking about a beast who can carve things up with its claws! What exactly can we do?"

"We can't just leave it, or it'll come after us!"

"It won't come after us if we run really fast!"

"But then... wait, no, you're right, let's run."

Unfortunately for democracy, Hunter was the one holding the torch, and being less weak willed than his comrades, ran off to find the beleaguered Grubby. Faced with the unpleasant prospect of being left in the dark, Pitts and Grall were obliged to follow.

Back in the dingy halls, the agonized wailing grew louder. "It's coming from over this way!" said Hunter, running in the direction of the sound. Dashing in pursuit as he was, Grall had only the faintest of moments to notice, as they passed the stairs, that the brown powder Pitts had dumped on the floor was no longer there.

A quick sprint through the maze-like corridors led the trio to a door, significant only because beyond it came sounds of running water and terrified yells. "I'm still up for running," whispered Pitts.

Hushing the fox with a glare, Grall took command. "Right," he said, quietly as he could, "on the count of three, we kick the door in, and dash for the badger. Weapons ready?" Two brief nods. "One, two, three!"

The door vanished as Grall's boots connected with it, revealing a massive indoor lake, a waterfall running from the cracks in the natural rock wall. Laying on the granite rim surrounding the water was a stoat, writhing furiously in uncontrollable laughter. The rumoured badger was a frightening sight: very large, very fearsome, and very dead, if the skeleton's bones were any indication.

Grubby laughed even harder as the angrily thrown helmet missed him an caromed into the lake. "You great, fat, beetle-brained idiot!" hollered Grall. "You had us scared to death!"

Wiping a mirthful tear from his eye, the stoat was completely unapologetic. "Wot? I said I found a badger, didn't I? Didn't say what condition it were in. Hee hee!"

Frowning, Hunter prodded Grubby with the butt of his spear. "You oughtn't be laughing, mate. We've got a bunch of dead beasts on our paws and we're trying to find who killed them."

"Actually, I'm content with not finding out at all," said Pitts. Grall agreed with a nod.

"Well, it wasn't him, anyway," said Grubby, managing to get back to his feet. "He's not in much condition to do anything."

Grall shuddered. Even dead, it was hard to take a badger lightly. "Big brute, too. I'd hate to see what it was capable of alive." The skeleton was abnormally large, and Grall thought the claws to be exaggerated as well.

Pitts shuffled his paws awkwardly. Finding their feared phantom to be a pile of bones had made him second guess. "Maybe we just got a case of the spooks. Dingy basement and all that."

Grall scratched his chin thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in nervous perplexity. "Maybe... but I'd bet my tail that one otter's not been more than a day at most. Something must've killed him..."

"I'm not keen on finding out. Look, let's just take that coat we found and tell Cromley it's all that's down here, and then head back to the main group." Not brooking any argument, Pitts headed out the door.

Where he very nearly bumped into a squirrel which had appeared in the hall.

An uncontrolled shriek of surprise tore out of Pitts' throat as he jumped backwards. For the squirrel's part, he continued on as if nothing had happened, dragging a broom across the hallway. Pitts managed to spit out a few incomprehensible sounds before passing out from shock, leaving his wide-eyed companions to deal with this new apparition.

Hunter was the first to coax words back into his mouth. "What... the 'gates... was that?"

"T'was a squirrel," Grubby offered.

"Ye don't say!" snarled the fox, cuffing Grubby on the ear. "I mean, what's it doing down here?"

"...Sweeping?" The stoat dodged another irate swipe.

Grall peeked out of the doorway. "He's right, actually." The squirrel was sweeping the stone floor, and, regardless of the practically non-existent light, did it with the bearings of one who had done this his whole life.

Transfixed with horrid fascination, the trio watched the methodically industrious woodlander as they filed out of the water cavern. The added illumination from Hunter's torch in the hallway had no effect on the squirrel, proceeding as efficiently as before. "How's he get down here?" whispered the fox. Somehow, speaking in regular volume seemed inappropriate.

"S'pose he's a ghost?" gulped Grubby, his previous sense of play having deserted him.

Grall shook his head. "Can't be. Look, his back's bleeding. Ghosts don't bleed."

"Oh, because that's _much_ less frightening," the stoat grumbled. The weasel was right, however: there were wounds akin to that of the dead otter on the squirrel's back, allowing blood to drip in his wake, cruelly spiting his attempts to clean the floor.

"We ought to find out what he's up to," suggested Hunter. "I don't fancy running into more woodlanders, cleaning or otherwise. Get his attention, Captain."

Grall looked in disbelief at his underling. All he wanted was to get out as quickly as possible. But then, Hunter had a point: if there were more squirrels running around, better to know sooner than later. The weasel tried to call out, but his lungs refused to provide air for the task. Coughing, Grall tried again. "Hey!" The increase in volume almost hurt, but the squirrel didn't flinch. "Hey!" he tried again.

Grall couldn't suppress a whimper as the squirrel stopped, craned its neck back to look at the vermin with dull, lifeless eyes. He was around the same age group as the dead otter, its fur greasy and matted, wan from loss of blood. Slowly, it raised a claw to its lips, whispered, "Ssh," and went back to sweeping.

Without waiting for approval, Grall turned around and headed back for the stairwell. Unfortunately, Hunter gripped the back of his collar and hauled him back. Glaring, Grall inched closer to the squirrel. "Excuse me, but... who are you and what are you doing here?"

The squirrel glanced up from his work, the slightest hint of annoyance in his features. "I can't stop to talk," he said. "I must have the floors cleaned, and Jeremy will be cross if I'm found slacking off."

Grubby smiled. "There's no one watching you, mate. No one's even here!"

Shaking his head, the squirrel replied, "They're always watching." Then, with a paw guarding the side of his mouth, he whispered, "They're looking in from inside the walls, you know."

Grall looked over to Hunter, who shrugged. It was likely they had found a solitary mad squirrel who was probably living out some past time. He wouldn't have been left like this if there had been other woodlanders present, with their silly sense of helping out those in need and all that nonsense. Building up his courage, the weasel hazarded another question. "I, er, don't suppose that in your cleaning up, you found anything really shiny or expensive looking?"

"All items without function have been put into storage. Categorization is the duty of Paul."

"And where is this Paul?" Grubby asked.

"Paul is dead."

The complete lack of concern with which this was announced made the stoat uncomfortable. "Are you _sure_ Paul's dead?"

"Yes."

"...Oh." Turning their backs to the squirrel, the group exchanged confused stares. "Well, I don't know what to do," said Grubby, not bothering to whisper, as the squirrel didn't appear to care about what was said anyway. "But I don't think we should hang around here much longer."

Even Hunter had to agree, his iron nerve starting to falter. "We found that coat, and that should make the Chief happy."

Pleased that there was finally a unanimous vote to leave, Captain Grall tried to add a moral spin. "Besides, the Chief will have conquered that Abbey place by the time we meet up with the horde, and there'll be more than enough treasure there. From what I've heard, they've got an oven that makes cakes out of dirt, great wall art, and a magical sword of some Martin fellow..."

"Where!" Grall was sharply interrupted, a broom shaft being held to his neck like a blade. The squirrel's stoic expression was replaced by a frightened fury. "Where is she?"

The fact that the broom could not harm him did nothing to ease Grall's concern. "...Pardon?"

"The marten! The one who ruined everything! The one that burns things and drags you into rooms and cuts you open! She..." The sudden surge of blood pressure drained what little energy the squirrel had, causing him to collapse to the floor. "Jeremy will not like this at all..." he mumbled.

Grubby gestured to the squirrel's maimed back. "Listen, do you want somebeast to look at that for ye? We've got some healers upstairs."

Switching mannerisms without a hitch, the squirrel shook his head in calm non-concern. "No. It is deserved penance for having failed my duty." Then, breaking down again, he sobbed, "The Master gives me a simple task, and I fail him!"

Hunter raised an inquisitive brow. "So it's yer Master that's carving beasts up like that?"

The squirrel glared angrily at the fox. "Of course not! The Professor is... no longer with us, thanks to the marten that ruined everything." Sighing wistfully, he looked sadly into space. "That's what made him so angry."

Grall waited for exposition, which was not forthcoming. "...Made _who_ angry?"

"The Project."

"...I'm sorry?"

"The Project! The Master's Project! We were to mind to it until the Master chose to resume his work on it."

"It got... angry? Grubby slowly put together. It was a bit strange: projects were supposed to be things involving a lot of coloured liquids and big words, not emotions. "What kind of project are we talking about, here?"

"It was his greatest creation," the squirrel announced with some pride. "He created the greatest war machine ever: a living weapon. One which could substitute entire armies on its own and easily destroy any foes. He enlarged the body and adrenaline output, so as to increase its violence potential, and placed armour grafts directly onto the fur, making it unstoppable. The Professor was very proud of it."

Grall was all for better weapons, but this did not sound appealing. "But you say he meant to resume it? So it wasn't completed?"

"No. The Master had other matters to attend to, and then the marten..."

"Who ruined things, right," interrupted Grubby, getting into the hang of things. "And how long ago was all this?"

The squirrel had to think before answering, "Eight seasons."

Hunter blinked. "Ye mean to say you've been down here alone for eight seasons?"

"Not alone. There were several of us who avoided being slaughtered by the marten who ruined everything and the laughing one."

"The laughing..."

Grall cautioned Hunter. "Let's not go there. So what happened to the others?" he asked, though if the storage room had been any hint, the answer was obvious.

"The Project had exhibited side effects to the Professor's improving of it. The altering of it's chemical balance caused its emotions to become unwieldy, making it erratic in its mood, as well as an inability to controlling impulses. Naturally, we kept it sedated, but as the serum ran out, it became more difficult to placate it, and as such, began to assault my fellow servants."

The image of the freshly dead otter reminded Grall that this fairy-story of a creature was, in fact, very real. "I, um, trust you have it sedated now?"

The squirrel buried his face in his paws. "It's gone! It escaped! Theodore and I tried to stop it, but it was too far gone. Sedation had worn off, and it demanded that the Professor complete it. We had managed to keep the news from it for so long, and when we finally told it the Professor was dead, it went out of control, killed Theodore, and stormed out of the castle. Oh, I've failed!"

The vermin were not inclined to share the servant's misery. "So it's not still here, then," sighed Hunter, wiping sweat from his brow. "That's good, then."

"There's nothing good about it!" yelled the squirrel, jumping to its feet. "It's gotten loose, don't you understand? It's the ultimate weapon, and its gone berserk, and nothing can stop it! Somewhere out there is a fully function weaponized badger on permanent Bloodwrath!"

Grall blinked. "Badger..." Dread melted into something of relief, the bones in the water cavern coming to mind. Of course: the squirrel was stuck in a past world, and was living out events long since over. "Listen, mate," he smiled assuredly. "You don't have to worry about that. It's dead, you see? Your badger is dead. We can take you to its bones if you like."

"Not him, you idiot!" the squirrel shrieked, grabbing Grall by the shoulders and shaking him angrily. The bloodshot eyes had become manic with intensity. "Not _him!_ The _other_ one! Project Brimstone!"

And then, its muscles seized, the burning eyes glazed over, and the squirrel died.


	2. Prologue Pt 2: Monsters

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

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**Prologue (Pt. 2): Monsters**

_by Stonewall_

Abbot Cloverleaf did not go down for breakfast today, for a number of reasons. All of which had to do with winter.

The first, quite simply, was that he did not feel well. Winter being as cruel as it was this season, the vole had come down with a cold, which was much easier to live with when you were snug in bed.

Secondly there was a distinct lack of chairs and places to sit in Cavern Hole during meal times. This was hardly surprising: the sheer number of creatures seeking refuge within Redwall had pushed its housing capabilities to the limit. All the same, Cloverleaf felt put out when he found his personal chair already occupied.

Which led to the third problem: Redwall's food supply was not as limitless as legend would have it. Catering to a small army of beasts every once a season was one thing; constantly trying to accommodate both the regular inhabitants and extra visitors was another kettle of tea. The pond had, of course, frozen over, as had the rivers, so fishing wasn't a possibility. The heavy layers of snow and ice had made scrounging for vegetation nigh impossible. All that the Abbey had to rely on was its foodstuffs, and even these could not magically replenish themselves overnight. The vole knew he could not solve the problem single-pawed by skipping breakfast, but it made him feel better anyway.

Breakfast, however, would not skip Abbot Cloverleaf. Via the current Skipper and his haremaid companion, the bowl of oatmeal and dried strawberries found its way from the kitchens and through the vole's door. "Knock knock!" the otter greeted redundantly, having already entered the room. "It seems somebeast has left a warm breakfast for all the good little Abbots, and I thought my helper and I would deliver it personally."

Cloverleaf smiled through a sneeze. "I wasn't aware my Nameday had come early this year."

"That's because you didn't read the notice, being too busy keeping this ship afloat."

Smartly, the haremaid offered the bowl to the Abbot. "Feed a cold, starve a fever? Or something like that."

"Fever or cold, I'm not enthralled with the 'starving' theory..." The witticism died in the vole's mouth, saturated with bitter reality. He ate his porridge, preferring the taste of dry berries to dry irony. "Thank you, Jolara, it's very nice."

Jolara curtsied. "Will that be all?" she asked the Skipper.

"Aye, you can take off. Go see what mischief there is to be had." The otter watched the haremaid go out of the room and down the stairs, closing the door behind her.

Abbot Cloverleaf waited until Jolara was gone before asking, "Were there... any problems this morning?"

Skipper shrugged. "There weren't many happy faces when I told the breakfast-goers that afternoon tea was cancelled until further notice, but most of them seemed to understand the point of it. It helped when I brought out the Friar to explain the stock situation, and that four meals a day would do more harm than good in the long run. Seeing as most of our guests are just happy for the shelter, there shouldn't be too much grief."

"Mm. It nearly broke my heart to cancel tea."

"I'm sure they don't mind too much, Father."

"Never mind them. _I'll_ miss my afternoon tea."A warm smile and a warm bowl made Cloverleaf feel much better. "Anything else?"

"Well, there was a bit of a kerfuffle when that fox, Whetnose or something, got caught nicking the Foremole's scones. But I gave the vermin a talking to, and apologies all around, so no real harm done."

The Abbot stirred his porridge. "Do you think it was a mistake in extending our hospitality to the local vermin?"

Skipper patted Cloverleaf on the shoulder. "Bless you, Father, you've got more wisdom in you than an owl, and a heart most beasts wish they had. But you got some facts to face, and one is that old habits are hard to break. It's hard to get along with one another for one season when you spend the other three fighting one another."

Cloverleaf frowned, placing an empty bowl on the bedside table. "I know it was a stretch to expect everybeast to get along after who-knows how many seasons of bad feelings. But I couldn't just leave them to the elements. Not with the weather being as it is. Murder by inaction is still murder."

"Well, we can only hope your intentions rub off on everybeast." Skipper chose not to mention the odd mutter he had overheard posing that should they have not let the vermin in, tea wouldn't have been cancelled. "But we can't expect peaches and cream at first."

"Mm."

"Now, I've been smoothing things over, and any open wounds seem to be scabbed over, at least. But we've got to hope both sides try to make do. Woodlanders aren't the only one with habits to break, and some of the vermin aren't exactly making themselves endearing."

Cloverleaf resisted the urge to pull the blankets over his head and pretend the world would disappear if he couldn't see it. "Do you think it was a mistake?" he repeated.

The Skipper wasn't certain one way or another, but didn't want to worry the Abbot any more than he already was. "No, Father, t'wasn't a mistake."

Feeling his cold ebb just slightly, the vole managed to lift himself out of bed, the icy floor sending shivers through his paws. "I suppose I ought to face the day, then. Er, where are my sandals?"

"Other side of the bed."

"Bother. I always wake up on the wrong side of the bed."

"That's what they say about you, Father."

Cloverleaf gasped in mock offence. "Are you implying I'm bad tempered? What impertinence! Fifty lashes and your paws lopped off!"

Skipper smiled. "Ah, you are in a better mood, then. Yesterday you had my nose off as well."

The vole's arms got stuck as he tried to find the sleeves inside his dense, warmer habit. "And I might yet, if you don't toss my scarf over."

"Right you are," the otter called back, rummaging through the drawers of the dresser. "Which would you prefer, the green or red one?"

"Hrm, the red one I think." Red... "Oh, and I suppose I should ask," said the Abbot, accepting the scarf. "Have you had any luck finding out about those Red Fire chaps or whatever you said they were?"

Skipper frowned. "Hmph. The most I've learned is that we got the name right, anyways. At least, the ones we've been spying on call themselves the Red Fire, and their leader's some beast named The Chief, or Moonshot. Silly sort of name if you ask me."

"Silly name or not, do you think they're to be worried about?"

"Difficult to say, really. They've not made any demands. In fact, they seem to try and avoid fights, when my crew comes by them. But there's more them around Mossflower than earlier this winter. We reckon at least a three score increase, and those are just the ones we've seen and accounted for. Who knows what they're hiding elsewhere."

The Abbot sat back on his comfy bed, wondering if it was too late to crawl back under the covers. "The last thing I should like this winter is a conflict. We've enough trouble as it is. I hope they're just passing through."

Fully armoured armies rarely just passed through, thought the Skipper. There was more trouble than just that: the snow had piled so high that he hadn't even been able to send out a runner to notify Salamandastron of their problems. Aloud, he said, "Well, I've got Rimmel and a few others out scouting today. Hopefully, we can snag one or two Reds. Nothing violent, mind," he added, noticing a look of concern on the Abbot's face. "Just trying to figure out what their game is."

Sighing heavily, Cloverleaf rose and headed out the door. "I'd just like the matter to be resolved with as little grief as possible."

So did the Skipper. The otter didn't fancy the vermin army, but he wasn't planning on provoking them either. Well, he thought as he followed the Abbot, Rimmel knows what he's about, and wouldn't do anything stupid.

And if the Red Fire Army did have fighting in mind... well, they wouldn't know what hit them.

Francis Moonshot did not get out of his cot to go see what the cook had produced for lunch. It was rarely worth his time; the weasel considered himself something of a gourmet, and the cook consistently offended his sensibilities. If he was going to get fat (and _that_ was a dreadful thought), he would do it by eating the finest. As the finest was not likely to be produced within the ancient barn the Red Fire Army was using as shelter, Francis was more than happy to skip a meal or two.

"And besides, it gives us a chance to spend more quality time, doesn't it?" he spoke aloud, pawing his ruby. The jewel was one of the originals in his collection, and despite further acquisitions, this remained one of his favourites. "You really haven't aged a day, have you? No, there's not need to be modest! You're perfectly perfect. Pretty, practically, perfectly perfect." Francis applauded his use of alliteration.

"That isn't to say the rest of you aren't equally wonderful, of course," he added, glancing over at the open treasure chest. Every beautiful gem, scintillating statue, and delectable diamond had a place in Francis's heart. "You know I love you. After all, I'm the only one who appreciates any of you." Other beasts just traded them willy nilly, or kept them hidden away. Beauty was not to be covered up, Francis thought, but exposed to brighten an otherwise dreary world. "Yes, yes, you will all be given a good home." He needed someplace to put them all, a place where all the beauty of the world could be collected in mass glory. Redwall was most definitely that place. The size, the building, the color (red stone against the green trees? Fantastic!). It would do nicely, save for the pesky fact that it was already inhabited.

But that never stopped Francis before.

"Oh, Ripper!"

A rat in red armour peeked his head through the curtain, marking the Chief's private quarters. "Aye, Chief?"

"Has Lord Cromley arrived yet?"

"Not yet, sir, but he sent a notice to expect Scouting Group B later this evening."

"Excellent, excellent, excellent. I'd hate to go visit our future base without my favourite Chief-of-Staff."

Ripper scratched his nose. "So, we'll be moving on the Abbey soon, then?"

"Oh, yes. Tomorrow, I should think. The Red Fire Army is all here once Cromley arrives." The weasel turned his attention back to the ruby. "And then we'll go about getting you a showcase, yes we will!"

"Thank you, sir. I've not had one of those..." The rat gulped as the Chief gave him a withering glare. "Oh, er, sorry, Chief. I didn't mean to interrupt your talking to your rocks again."

"Don't talk about them as if they're not here!" snapped Francis. "It's incredibly rude!"

"Right. My apologies." It was hard learning to extend courtesy to include stones. "Oh, I should tell you, the pickets picked up a pair of shrews near the river and brought them back, if you're interested."

"Did they, now?" mused Francis, moving effortlessly from indignant to businesslike. "That _is_ interesting. Finally, something other than otters. They're beginning to get on my nerves." Honestly, you nearly had to beat the riverdogs off with a stick. Such ugly looking things, too. If he wasn't trying to keep a low profile before asserting himself, Francis would have the nuisances killed. Shrews, now... "They wouldn't happen to know anything about the Abbey, would they?"

"Hard to say, sir. They won't say much of anything."

Francis rolled his eyes. "Oh, dear, they're going to be difficult, are they?" Sighing theatrically, the weasel rose out of bed. "I'd best go ask them myself."

Ripper nodded. "Very well, Chief. I'll get the guards to ready the prisoners for your spectacular self."

Francis barely noticed the rat exit the makeshift room, more concerned with what he should wear. The scarlet robes were indefinitely more comfortable, not to mention the diamonds on the collar were brought out when reflecting the snow. But interrogations always went better in the usual red armour: it made the whole thing more serious. Of course, donning cold metal in the middle of winter was unpleasant, but, the weasel thought, sacrifices would have to be made, grimacing as he tried to tie the back of his breastplate (sending Ripper away was a terrible idea. Doing up your own armour was almost impossible.).

"Now, I shan't be long," he explained to his ruby, putting it atop its glittering kin within the treasure chest. "I just have some business to attend to. You all just get some sleep, and I shall come back when I've finished." With a final reassuring smile, Francis closed the lid, locked the chest, strung the key and chain around his neck, and left the room.

Moonshot wasn't completely certain how a barn this size came to be, or how long it had been here, but it was good for keeping out the elements. Most of the Red Fire Army was housed within it, huddled around a smattering of fires, eating what was left of lunch. All things considered, the vermin did not look as sour as the might have been, and those that did changed their faces the moment the Chief walked within eyesight. No one was keen on venting displeasure when their Chief was around, provided they planned on longer, healthier living.

The guards forced to stand on the outside of the barn door were less inclined to accept displeasure. "Ought to at least get us some decent gloves," lamented a shivering stoat, breathing into his paws to create warmth.

"Mm-hm," said his companion, a fox.

"Don't know what it is we're guarding against. Only beasts dumb enough to be outside on a day like this are us."

"Mm-hm."

"We've every right to complain. Know what I'd say to the Chief if he were right here, right now?"

"Good morning," chimed Francis as he emerged through the doors.

"Ah, good morning, Chief!" the stoat greeted, saluting smartly. "And how was your sleep?"

"The usual, I'm afraid. The snoring from the troops is positively abysmal for allowing decent rest."

"Yes sir, there's naught worse than that." Fully aware of the condescending smirk he was receiving from his comrade, the stoat added, "But, uh, my friend and I, we were wondering..."

"Why are we guarding when there's nothing to guard against?" said the fox, finishing his comrade's thoughts.

The stoat was only too glad to cede the floor to the fox, who was now the target of a glare from the Chief. "What?"

"Well, we've been staring at nothing but snow for hours now, with no sign of..."

"And why, pray tell, are you staring at snow, when you're supposed to be watching for spies and intruders?"

"I meant that there's only snow, and not an intruder in sight..."

"Of course they're not in sight, you dolt!" sneered Francis. "They'd be hiding, if they were any good. Do you just waltz up to an army, bold as brass?"

The guard blinked, trying to grasp the logic. "I suppose not, but..."

"You _suppose_? Did I _say_ you could think? A woodland populace that likely knows every guerrilla tactic in the book, only too keen on dropping in on an imposing army, and you ask what you're guarding against?"

"Yes, but, who..."

"I receive reports every day telling me that those infernal otters are snooping about, and I'm certain they'd just love to get the jump on us because our sentries are too busy wondering what they're guarding against."

"Yeah, but..."

"Don't look for snow. Look for otters _hiding_ in the snow." Honestly.

Coughing into his paw, the stoat intervened. "Too true, Chief. And watch for 'em we will. Though, er, it might be easier if we could keep warmer. Keeps the wits from going numb."

Switching his attention from the fox, Francis nodded in pleased agreement with the stoat. "True. Here, take this," he said, removing the scarf from his neck (he had plenty more) and presented it to the guard. "Keep up the good work." To the fox, he sneered, "And _you_ can get yours after learn how to be a proper sentry." Spotting the detained shrew captives and their escort approaching, the weasel smiled. "Well, back to business, I suppose!" he beamed, waving cheerfully to the pair of guards as he departed. "Ta ta!"

Waiting until the Chief was out of hearing range, the fox hissed at his partner. "Why'd I get in trouble for that? It was your idea!"

Wrapping the scarf around his neck, the stoat stuck his tongue out. "'Cause I'm not dumb enough to say those things myself. Ooh, this is warm, alright."

"Here, give be half, at least enough to wrap around the paws."

"No, g'way."

"Yer a dumb newt."

"Ha, newts aren't dumb, shows how much you know."

Placing his paws officiously behind his back, the Chief greeted the returning scouts. "Excellent work, my fine fellows. And who do we have with us today?" He bobbed his head towards the pair of shrews, wearing similar bandanas around their heads. They were bound, but did not seem concerned with either the fact they had been captured, or that they were in the presence of the Red Fire Army's Chief.

A fox centurion prodded a shrew with his spear. "Found 'em following us, wandering around the riverbanks while we were patrolling. Didn't think we ought to just turn them loose."

"Are they from the Abbey?"

"Can't say. The ain't spoken a peep, dumb twerps that they are. Think we ought to run 'em through."

Francis grimaced in mock anguish. "Run them through? How vile! How uncreative! I think we can do better than that." Looking directly at the woodlanders, the weasel grinned menacingly. "Now, my spikey guests, would you be interested in talking to your good friend, Francis Moonshot? Or are you planning on finding out what one can do to beasts who don't cooperate?"

The shrews exchanged glances, and with a mutual wink and nod, put on a perfect display of staunch resolution.

"Do you come from Redwall?" Nothing. "Where do you come from?" Nothing. "Are you in league with the otters?" Nothing. "Who do you work with?" Nothing. "What's your favourite color?" Nothing.

"Still say we should run 'em through."

Francis smiled, undiscouraged. They never talked in the initial questioning. Luckily, he had plenty of time for violent fun before Cromley arrived. "No matter. Take them behind the barn, and fetch me some nails."

Somewhat pleased, the fox jabbed one of the shrews in the shoulder. Jumping in shock, the shrew dislodged the bright green stone he had hidden within his tunic, which then fell to the ground at his footpaws.

For Francis, time stopped, torture ceased mattering, and who cared about otters? "Hold it!" he yelled, as if further movement might break something. Disregarding the shrew's anguished looks, the weasel bent down on one knee, inching slowly towards the stone, lest he upset it. Gingerly reaching out to it, the weasel hastily retracted his paw, like something had nipped at it. "Whoa, there," he murmured softly. "Whoa. I'm not going to hurt you. You're among friends." Cooing further assuring promises, Francis reached for the stone again, this time with more success. Cradling it gently, he asked, "Now then, just what do you call yourself, hm?"

The shrew whom had dropped the stone struggled against his guards. "That's our democratic Guosim stone, and you've no right to..."

"Was I _talking_ to you?" snarled Francis, baring his fangs at the interrupter. Turning his attention back to the stone, his mood softened. "Do you like them?" A chuckle. "Me neither. A thing like you stuck in some shrew's tunic? Preposterous. I can give you a far better home. Would you like that?"

Bursting free from restraint, the second shrew leapt at Francis. "Leggo of that!" he cried, just managing to bite the weasel on the paw.

The fox guard's eyes widened. "Oh, bugger," he mumbled. Much to the renegade shrew's surprise, the vermin took a step back rather than apprehending the captive.

The Chief stared in abject horror as the slightest stream of red began to ooze out of the nick on his paw. "You bit me!"

The shrew spat, prepared for the worst. "Aye, and you'd best prepare for worse than that, scum. Just see how long you last before..."

"_You...bit...me!_" The brave words the shrew was planning on were nothing compared to the unfettered hatred and fury that burned from Francis's mouth. Nearly tripping in his mad scrabble forwards, the weasel gripped the woodlander's head, driving his claws into the temple. "You marred my perfection! Now have _scars_! You've ruined my fur forever!"

The shrew tried to remember what it felt like to be defiant. "You're, uh, you're just..."

The imbedded claws of the weasel dragged down the shrew's face, carving a bloody wake in their trail. "Do you think that's funny? Is it _funny_ to have your flesh ruined? Does that make you _laugh_? _Ha ha_?" Having cut the length of the shrew's face, Francis resorted to punching it on the nose. "You insolent little peasant! You evil, evil... GRAH!" The weasel drove his fangs into the shrew's throat and began to chew.

Mercifully, one of the guards placed his paws over the remaining captive's eyes. "Yer not gonna want to see this, mate."

It took about a minute for Francis to fully sever the head from the body. His face and armour saturated in a red bath, the Chief sat amidst the carnage, breathing heavily in an attempt to calm down. Slowly regaining his composure, Francis rubbed some un-bloodied snow on his face to wash away the stains. "It really is a pity," he sighed, staring wistfully at the cut in his paw, which had already begun to heal. "Towel's, please!" he asked in exasperated annoyance.

As he waited for one of the vermin to fetch him a towel, Francis gave the idlest glance at the scene of the crime before he raised his paws to his mouth in anguished shock. "Oh, my goodness," he gasped. "What on earth was I thinking?" Kicking the shrew's carcass aside, the weasel dug in the snow to fine the stone, slightly less green than before. "Oh, my dear," he lamented to the rock, petting it as he used the shrew's body for a stool. "I'm sorry you had to witness that. I shall have to clean you up, won't I?"

The fox, having more than his fill of violence for the day, coughed to get the Chief's attention. "We, what do we do with this one, Chief?"

"Hm?" Francis appeared surprised that the other captive and his guards were still here. "Oh, yes. Actually, I don't think I shall get to him today. You'd best take him inside. Make sure he's warm, and maybe get the cook to whip him up something nice."

"Uh, right you are, Chief," said the fox, leading the remaining shrew away towards the barn.

Wiping some of the grime off his stone, Francis Moonshot consoled himself over the scratch. It wasn't so bad. Maybe no beast would notice if he started wearing gloves...

"I see you have kept bust, sire."

Francis looked up at the fat wildcat in an overlarge coat. "Ah, Cromley, just the cat I wanted to see. You're awfully early. I wasn't expecting you until this evening."

Lord Cromley leaned on his cane. "Once again, our messengers fail the simplest tasks of correspondence. What I said, in fact, was that the _entirety_ of Scouting Group B would be assembled by the evening, arriving in waves. Your previous messages regarding otter spies have made me wary, and I believed the Group would be less detectable if we split up and took different routes."

"Very nice, very nice. And how did your expedition fare?"

"Not as fruitful as one might have hoped, but a small amount of treasure none the less. There were more books and parchments than anything, which I procured for my own curiosity. I trust you do not object?"

"Oh, not in the least. Far be it or me to deny you reading material." Pocketing the less-bloodied stone, Francis rose from the decapitated chair. "Where are those towels... what rate of arrival do you expect?"

"Providing we are not encumbered, I should expect one party to arrive on the hour, ending with Captain Droztail at dusk."

Nodding, Francis strolled back to the barn, the hobbling wildcat following behind him. "Excellent, excellent. Well, we'd best get down to the paper work. I should like to confront the Abbey tomorrow morning, and these things won't plan themselves."

"Of course, sire."

"And then, those pesky otters won't know what hit them."

Neither Rimmel nor Captain Droztail knew what hit them.

The otter was flung across the clearing, narrowly missing his vermin counterpart. Already bearing a black eye and multiple wounds, the rat yelled, "Right, you've made your point, now call it off!"

Rimmel massaged his broken arm. "What d'ye mean, call it off? It's not one of mine!"

"Well, it ain't one of ours! Bloody badgers always work with you riverdogs!"

"Then d'ye mind telling me why it's killing my crew?" In perfect timing, another otter, this one dead with a broken neck, landed next to the pair.

Ignoring the protest, Droztail rose to his feet. "Don't get too close, mates! Keep him at bay! Use the spears!"

What few vermin remained in the rear guard of Scouting Group B tried to comply with the order, but found when they struck at the badger, their spears bounced harmlessly off the chain mail imbedded in its fur. The attack did nothing but make it madder yet; with a roar, it tore into the spear wielding ranks, crushing, biting, clawing, tearing.

Wincing through the pain, Rimmel signalled to the two otters left from the crew Skipper had sent out that morning. "Charge him, mates, he's got to be tiring out. While he's distracted!" Leaping over the mounds of bodies surrounding the leviathan, the trio of woodlanders aimed to slay the creature. Cruelly disregarding Rimmel's estimation that it was tired, the badger swatted Rimmel aside, then, taking the other two otters within his enormous claws, smashed their skulls together. Then, noticing Rimmel was still breathing, gripped him by the neck, lifted the otter in the air, and slammed the body on a nearby rock, effectively breaking him in two.

For his part, Captain Droztail could only gulp. The winter wind whistled through the clearing, emphasizing the lack of joyful, living things. The only other sound came from the heavy breathing emanating from underneath that rusted, metal face mask. A quick glimpse of the carnage revealed to the rat that he was the last member of either vermin or woodlander parties, and was alone with the badger.

And the badger was looking directly at him.

It's head was covered in an arched metal plate, two holes carved into it; presumably for the eyes to see through, no reflection of light or life came out of these holes, eternally dead and darkened. Its fur shimmered where the chainmail had been sewn in, and its legs and lower torso were further clad in metal, though growing red with aging rust. The left side of the body was similarly plated, with the artificial skin completely shutting out any sign of fur on the paws, arms, chest, and shoulders. Such attention on the right side, which remained bare, as if the armourer had lost interest in his task.

Not surprisingly, Droztail's impulse was to turn and run, and began to do so. He had taken about two strides when the scruff of his neck was seized, dragging him back with great force. Feeling his paws being lifted off the ground, the rat whimpered, forced to stare into the empty sockets of the badger.

"Where?" The words sounded hollow, echoing within the mask.

Given that Droztail had expected to be dead three seconds ago, the question took him off guard. "Wot?"

Shaking the rat violently, the badger barked again, "Where?"

"Where what? Where who?"

"Where is he? I must be complete!"

"Where who? _Where who?_ For Fate's sake will you stop shaking me?"

Droztail's request was granted, instead being slammed and pinned against a tree, still levitated by the badger's claws. The beast's breath poured out like steam into the cold air. "Where is the Professor?"

Scared half to death, the vermin was capable of saying the only thing that appeared in his head. "'M sorry, the Professor is out right now!"

"...Oh." The steam engine stopped, the claws eased up slightly. "Oh, I see." Droztail had the mental image of molten steel having cold water poured over it. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

When faced with imminent destruction, Droztail was hardly above lying to a mad badger. "Difficult to say, really. Didn't leave any specifics."

"Unfortunate." The badger's shoulders drooped in disappointment. "I must find him, you see. He promised to complete my ascension to the ultimate entity. He solved all the weaknesses of other beasts and would correct those flaws in me. Now he has disappeared, and I have yet to be completed."

"Uh-huh. Er, and was killing those otters part of this, uh, ascension?"

"Yes." It was put so matter-of-factly that Droztail doubted the badger had any inclination that this was an issue for debate. "The details have yet to be made clear, but the truth will be revealed once I ascend. What is certain is that acting as a weapon is integral to the process. The Professor has told me this."

Hanging about with a badger who was under the impression he needed to kill in order to become something greater did not sound like a good idea to Droztail. "Well, mate, tell you what. You put me down and wait right here, and I'll run off and bring the Professor over, and then he'll complete you. Sounds like a deal, eh?"

The claws began to loosen ever so slightly from the rat's neck, when the hollow voice hardened. "If you intend to inform him, you must know where he is."

Recognizing the gaff, the rat began to panic. "No, wait, it's..."

The excuse was cut short, the badger slamming the rat against the tree once more. "Where!"

"I don't know, all right? I don't know!"

"Useless!" The last thing Droztail saw in his life was a metal-clad fist hurdling towards his face, shattering the skull.

Dropping the deceased rat, the badger stormed out of the clearing, unconcerned with the corpses he left behind, nor with the blood further rusting his armour. Lost among the trees and snow, his mind was occupied with one thought.

"Where...where...I must be complete...where..."


	3. Poetic Introduction

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Poetic Introduction  
**

_by Rhea (of MM1)  
_

Flames nimbly dance this winter's night.  
I glance at them, and almost see,  
Reflected in the fading light,  
Each beast from that old memory.  
A monster that possessed the wood,  
Neighbors and strangers, side by side.  
Daring fighters who dreamed they would  
Be rich in glory, wealth, or pride.  
Recalling all that season brought  
I shudder and put out the flame.  
Mossflower seemed forever wrought  
So nothing else could be the same.  
Though now I know that, in the end,  
Of course...some of our lives went on.  
Nestle beside me, little friend.  
Enter my tale of seasons gone.


	4. 1: A Kind of Excellent Dumb Discourse

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

start of week one.

**Chapter 1. A Kind of Excellent Dumb Discourse**

_by Avery_

_"Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground — long heath, brown furze, anything. The wills above be done, but I would fain die a dry death."_ - Gonzalo, _The Tempest_

Avery let out a great sigh as he watched the great pot over the stove bubble away. The ferret frowned, hitching his scarf a bit more snugly about his neck. Sighs shouldn't be visible.

"So this is where it all ends," he muttered to himself, "freezing to death on a dingy ship. Such a smashing way to go."

Avery sniffed the pot's glutinous contents. Maybe it needed more salt. He dipped a cracked wooden spoon into the pot and tasted the mess, promptly spitting it out. Maybe it needed red wine? Avery found a near empty bottle on one of the shelves. The ruby liquid swilled around the bottom, and the ferret gnawed at his lip.

Eventually he shrugged. Maybe they wouldn't notice his skilly 'n' duff tasted like burnt dung. They were just corsairs, after all, and he was cold. He yanked the cork out with his teeth, spat it out, and tipped the sweet wine into his maw.

"Oh, Cookie!"

Avery dropped the bottle with a clank and spluttered, choking on the wine that had tried to worm its way into his lungs.

"Cap...Cap...Captain!" he gasped.

Captain Serendipity Gildalily stood in the doorway of the tiny kitchen, an amused smirk on her lips. She was short, even by weasel standards, but what she lacked in height she made up for in sheer ferocity. Even now, though she was clearly in a good mood, Avery couldn't help but feel a bit terrified. She wore an absurd crimson cape and had purple powder dusted across her eyeline, but Avery had learned quickly that it was best not to comment on such things.

"Normally I'd have a beast's head for that," she crooned, "but I can't be bothered today. We've sighted land, you see. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Oh ruddy hellgates, yes!" Avery blurted. "Er, I mean, that's...that's lovely, it is."

Serendipity's eyes narrowed. "Getting a bit tired of the corsair life, are we?"

"Oh no, Captain, no," he said quickly. "I just mean that the supplies are running low. It's high time we found somewhere to stock up, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, quite," said Serendipity, though Avery noticed her paw grazed the tip of her scimitar handle. He winced as though she had lain a claw to his tender flesh.

"Anyway," the captain continued, "I just came to see how our breakfast was coming along. We can't have beasts going foraging on an empty stomach, now can we? No, we can't. I'll expect it in three shakes of a seadog's whiskers."

With that, she swept grandly from the room. Avery nudged the wine bottle with his footpaw, but to his annoyance the rest of it had spilled. As he hefted the massive pot onto a splintery trolley, he supposed it didn't matter much anyway. After breakfast, he'd be able to find somewhere with enough wine to warm him from nose to frigid tailtip.

The _Seawolf_'s longboat scraped against the cold sand of the shore. Avery was one of the first to leap out, though he immediately regretted it, yowling as the wintery tidewater seared his footpaws.

"Buck up, me 'earty," a grizzled searat called Shardfang chuckled, clapping Avery on the back as he sloshed past to help a couple of the other corsairs grab the head rope and drag the longboat up onto the beach.

Avery slogged ashore and waited as they secured the boat, his paws folded across his narrow chest. The captain's orders had been clear: the ten beasts she'd sent ashore were to search for a nearby settlement and report back. This was where it was going to get tricky. Avery had wheedled his way onto the search party, and he knew Serendipity, for all her eccentricities, was no fool. She had to know he was exactly where he wanted to be right now.

Still, there was no time to sit and think. He had to act if he wanted to stay one step ahead of the captain.

"I say, what is that?" he called.

"What's what, Cookie?" the First Mate called, a tinge of bored amusement in her voice.

"Don't call me—" he muttered, but there was no time for that. "I mean, something just disappeared over that dune there, First Mate Ruthliss. Surely you saw?"

"No, I didn't," the stoat said matter-of-factly, leaving the others to finish dealing with the longboat. "What're ye preposin' then?"

"Well," Avery blustered, "shouldn't we go investigate? I'll go right now if you'd like."

Ruthliss sighed. "All right, go. Shardfang, why don' ye go with 'im, aye?"

"Arr." The searat dropped the tow rope and clapped Avery on the back once more.

The ferret coughed and once again saved his spectacles from tumbling to the sand. He stowed them in his pocket. This was his favorite pair, and he wasn't about to lose them because of some mangy old rat. Besides, he didn't foresee needing to read anything in the near future.

The pair of them set off up the first high, snow-dusted dune, Avery's mind whirling to come up with a way to lose the old rat. As they crested the dune and began the descent, Shardfang made an observation.

"There ain't no tracks 'ere."

"Perhaps it flew?" Avery suggested. "Let's check the next dune."

Two dunes later, Shardfang was losing his temper, and Avery still had no ideas.

"Lissen, matey, y' obviously were seein' things. We're headin' back, now."

"Just one more dune! It has to be over this one!"

Avery made to start climbing the next dune but froze as something hard was pressed into the middle of his back. He felt the searat's filthy arm wrap around him and grimaced as a wave of the beast's rancid breath washed over him.

"Cap'n knew y' might try summat like this," he chuckled. "She tol' ol' Ruthliss 'n' me t' keep an eye on ye."

Avery gulped. "I don't...I don't know what you..."

Shardfang jabbed his knife point a bit harder against Avery's back. "D'ye think we're all stupid? Aye, y' think yer so much better'n us, Mr. Selwyn. Well, yer nothin' to us, aye, an' yer cookin' stinks!"

"Now that I actually agree with, but..."

"Stow it, scab!" Shardfang hissed. "I've got some bad news fer ye. Cap'n says she doesn't care 'oo yer daddy is. Deserters on 'er ship allus meet the same sticky end. Shall I do this quick 'r slow, Cookie?" he added with a chortle.

"Don't call me _Cookie_!" Avery yelled, his elbow smashing into Shardfang's eye. He wriggled from the stunned rat's grip and whirled, his dagger leaving its sheath and entering his opponent's stomach in a trice. Shardfang sank to the ground, a look of surprise frozen on his face as his blood and bile stained the snow all around him.

And then Avery's mind caught up with him. He'd killed one of the crew. He often fantasized about doing it, especially when they were being particularly hideous to him, but he never thought he'd actually have to. Yes, have to. He'd had to do it. It was kill or be killed, right?

"Ugly git never liked my singing anyway," he said, voice trembling.

He pulled his dagger out with a soft _squelch_ and wiped it clean on the rat's jerkin. He sheathed it and looked up at the next dune. As he did, a snowflake landed on his nose. With any luck, the snow would hide his pawprints, but he couldn't trust to luck alone. He had to get away, and quickly. Without even pausing to look back at Shardfang's corpse, the ferret hurried off over the next dune.

Avery cleared the dunes and began trudging across a wide plain, the snow deepening the farther inland he went. That night, cold, wet, and miserable, he curled up under his cloak at the edge of what looked to be a massive forest. He'd managed to purloin some rations from the ship, but even a belly full of food did little to lift his spirits. He didn't know where he was, and if he didn't find somebeast soon, well, he preferred not to think about that. Still, he told himself firmly, it was better than being stuck on a ship full of uncultured hooligans.

After a night of little sleep, Avery braved a hardtack biscuit before setting off into the woodlands. He inspected his surroundings as he trudged through the deep snow. The woods were deserted and utterly silent. After several hours of this it became rather unnerving, and Avery began to sing an old song his father used to sing to him when he was just a kit.

"Oh Zanzer was a fox, they say,  
Cunning a beast as ever seen.  
They say he even cheated death,  
Because, he said, he wasn't keen.

Oh Lord Vulpuz came a-knockin'  
At Zanzer's door one winter's night.  
He called to him, 'Your game is up!  
Come out, my lad, and feel death's bite!'

Oh Zanzer smiled and hatched a scheme  
To put the Dark Lord in his place.  
He said, 'Let's play a little game.  
You win, I'll come to your embrace.'

Oh Lord Vulpuz scoffed, 'You can hope,  
Dear Zanzer fox, but that is all.  
For nobeast ever can do more...'"

"'When old Lord Vulpuz comes to call!'" a jovial voice finished for him.

Avery nearly leapt into the air in shock. While he was singing he hadn't heard the three beasts approaching. The ferret blinked, worried his eyes were deceiving him. Was that really two stoats flanking...a hare?

"Ah, yes, the Ballad of Old Zanzer. Rather a favorite of mine, eh wot? I particularly enjoy the bit at the end where Zanzer cheats Vulpuz out of his job and takes over Hellgates." The long-eared beast stood with his paws on his hips, looking entirely unconcerned to be in the presence of three mustelids. Was this some sort of joke?

"Who are you?" Avery demanded, his lip curling.

"Captain Bartolomeo of the _Bluddseeker_, my good chap. I was just with me crew here, traveling up the ol' River Moss, but we had to leave the ship behind when the blasted river narrowed and froze over. We were just following the river upstream on foot when we heard your plaintive tones, wot."

"Wait, wait, wait," Avery interrupted. "Captain Bartolomeo? From up north?"

The hare's abnormal ears flopped about as he nodded vigorously. "The very same. Heard of me, eh?"

"Ehh, yes." Unfortunately, he had to see it to believe it: a woodlander, holding power over his kind. Avery watched the beast's enormous incisors poking stupidly out of his mouth with every word. It was incredibly distracting.

"Ah, but what brings a chap such as yourself all the way out here all by your lonesome, Mr...?"

"Avery Selwyn. And I walked here. Obviously," Avery huffed.

The trace of a frown crossed Bartolomeo's features, but only briefly. "Well, no need to get uppity, young chap. If you'd care to join us, we're bound for all the loot 'n' plunder Mossflower has to hold."

"Thanks, but, ah, I'd rather not," Avery sneered, "_Captain_ Bartolomeo."

"Suit yourself, matey," the hare said, shrugging. He and his crewbeasts turned and disappeared into the forest.

The ferret stared at the place they'd gone for some time, eyes narrowed and blood hammering through his veins. The audacity of that long-eared pillock! The very idea of taking orders from a jumped up bunny rabbit was enough to make him sick.

Avery turned to leave and came face-to-face with a giant, armored badger. He looked up into the beast's great, vengeful eyes, and dooked.

Bartolomeo and the two stoats had just rejoined the _Bluddseeker_'s crew when they heard a shriek. The hare turned as Avery burst into the clearing, eyes wide as saucers.

"I've changed my miiiiind!"

The giant badger let out a great bellow as he spotted the corsairs. Avery felt a great paw grab him by the scruff of his neck and lift him like a rag doll. Limbs flailing uselessly, he shouted curses at the badger. The next moment he was sailing through the air. With a terrific _whumph_ Avery landed in a deep snowdrift. The ferret wriggled his long body as deeply into the snow as he could, shutting his eyes tight as the sounds of chaos rang out all around him. He just hoped the hare got what was coming to him.


	5. 2: Mossflower or Mutiny

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 2. Mossflower or Mutiny  
**

_by Bartholomeo_

_The ship's company will remember that I am your captain, your judge, and your jury. You do your duty and we may get along. Whatever happens, you'll do your duty. - Captain Bligh (Charles Laughton in 'Mutiny on the Bounty')_

The bellowing shattered the quiet of the forest. Corsairs, caught unawares grabbed for their weapons, but the massive creature was already upon them. Within seconds nearly a dozen vermin lay dead, the snow in the clearing quickly turning pink. Utter chaos reigned. Bart desperately tried to rally his crew together, but the corsairs were already scattered, franticly attacking the massive badger, who swatted away their attempts as if he were swatting away flies.

"Stick to me, maties!" Bart hollered over the din of the battle. "To me! To me!"

The First Mate grabbed the hare by his collar. "We've got to get out of 'ere!" he yelled. "This thing'll kill us all!"

"I'll be a lubber before I let it take down my crew…" Bart growled, his paw tightening on the hilt of his cutlass. "We can take the blighter, we just need to attack together. Come on my lads! Death or glory, and all that!"

Skrimjaw brandished his weapon to rally the spirits of the surviving corsairs that had rallied around their Captain. The First Mate gave the crew's battlecry, "Long live Cap'n Bart!"

"He owes us grog!" roared the crew in reply.

As one the surviving corsairs launched themselves at their monstrous assailant. The vermin were practically clawing over each other to strike the first blow, but Bart managed to outpace the others and brought his cutlass hard up into the creature's stomach. There was a loud clang, and the blade shivered, causing Bart to lose his grip. The weapon dropped to the snow, but before Bart could grab it the badger caught him in the chest with a heavy backpawed blow and sent him reeling across the clearing.

Bart could feel somebeast tugging at his shirt, dragging him away from the noise, but his head was swimming and he couldn't catch his breath.

"Come on Cap'n, we've got to get out of 'ere!" hissed a voice in his ear. It sounded like Yellowfang.

"Yellowfang, ye… ye bloody fool!" panted Bart, as his helmsbeast dragged him away from the slaughter. "Why'd you have us come here, eh? This is your blasted Committee's fault!"

~

_The Bluddseeker bobbed gently at her moorings, deceptively peaceful. Behind her, the burning woodlander village gave lie to the calm scene._

"The lads are gettin' restless Cap'n" Skrimjaw's face was grim. "This pit of a place is still recoverin' from the last time we came through these parts. There's nowt enough loot t' even divide it up between the crew. Better keep an eye on 'em."

"Yes, a most unfortunate end to the day, wot?" replied Bart, glumly. "Never thought I'd see the day, still, needs must when Vulpuz spits in your grog. Crack out the good rum, and give a double ration tonight. Let's see the blighters mutiny against that!"

The crew were quiet for a couple more days, but it wasn't long before the mutterings started again. Bart and his officers did their best to keep the worst of the troublemakers in line, but it was scarcely a week after the raid that Bart found himself in his office, facing a grim looking group.

"And how might you chaps be?" asked Bart, knowing full well what they were here for.

"Cap'n, it's me duty to tell ye, we're the representatives of the crew. We're in agreement about a few things goin' on 'ere."

Bart glared at their leader. "What you mean, Mr. Yellowfang, is that the crew are going to bally well mutiny, wot?"

Yellowfang squirmed. "They want to, sir, there's some as has been sayin' that we should 'ave already… But we'n the other officers know what you've done for the crew, an' we wants to give you a second chance."

Bart raised an eyebrow, giving a quizzical glance to Skrimjaw, who was standing uneasily on the edge of the mutineers' group. "And what do you make of this, Mr.. Skrimjaw?"

Now it was Skrimjaw's turn to squirm. "Well… Cap'n… I think we should listen to 'em."

"Is that so, Mr. Skrimjaw?" Bart leaned back in his chair, trying not to show his blood was up.

"It's like this, Cap'n," Yellowfang interrupted, growing in confidence. "Some of the lads 'ave 'eard about this army that's goin' down into Mossflower. The Red Fire Army they called it. They say they're grabbin' all the good loot they can get. If we can get down there, I reckon there'll be plunder a-plenty, an' yer crew'll be behind you all the way!"

"You reckon, eh wot?" There was very little choice at this point. "Mossflower or mutiny, then. Well, I reckon that Mossflower seems the lesser of two evils, don't you know! Very well, Mr. Yellowfang, spread the word around the crew, we're setting course due South."

"Right away, Cap'n!" Yellowfang's eyes gleamed as the mutinous officers left the office.

"Mr. Yellowfang's after my ship, don't you know," muttered Bart as Skrimjaw let out a long sigh of relief. "If things go badly in Mossflower, he may need to meet with an unfortunate accident. See what you can arrange, old bean."

The hare shook his head. "Corsairing by committee. Never thought I'd see the bally day."

~

The noise of the battle was finally receding. Bart's head was spinning, but he was at least able to stand again.

"How many left?"

There were a few shaken voices, but a quick glance around the clearing revealed the grim truth – no more than seven of the corsairs were still standing. Bart glanced around the clearing, looking for any sign of the monster that had attacked them.

"Beast spotted some of the oarslaves making a dash for it, and went after them," Skrimjaw explained. The First Mate tore a piece off his shirt and tied it around his forehead to cover a deep gash. "We just 'ad no effect… we might as well 'ave been spittin' on the thing!"

Bart was about to reply, but suddenly spotted a tail quivering from one of the nearby snowdrifts. Waving to the survivors to keep quiet, the hare crept towards the solitary tail. With a swift motion, he plunged a paw into the snowdrift, grabbed hold of its occupant, and yanked the yelping creature out into the open.

"Out you come, matey!" Bart couldn't help grinning, even in the midst of the carnage. Avery just looked so ridiculous. "Fat lot of good you were, eh?"

The reality of the situation finally began to sink in, and even the hare's jovial demeanour began to slip. "So, maties. Seven of us left. Eight with Mr. Selwyn here. The ship's iced up until spring, the oarslaves are getting their brains bashed in, we've no food or provisions and we're in a country populated by woodlanders, a marauding army and one blood crazed monster. Anybeast that wants to leave, I won't blame them." He fixed a pointed glare at Yellowfang.

Avery stood up, unsteadily. "Well, this has been an experience, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to be parting company with you…"

Bart clapped a paw on the ferret's shoulder and forced him back down to the ground. "Put a sock in it. There's a good fellow."

The ferret glowered, standing again and balling his paws on his hips. "Take your paws off me, you overgrown bunny rabbit! I'm ten times more qualified to lead these beasts than you!"

Bart gave the ferret a hard shove. Avery tottered, then tumbled backwards into the snow.

"Look here, old bean. I've been more than patient with you, but out there is a vicious killing machine, and by the looks of you, you wouldn't last a minute by yourself. Now we're going looking for this Red Fire Army. Come with us, if you want to live."

Avery glanced between Bart and the forest.

"You make a compelling argument, for a hare."

"Good to see you've got some sense in you, at least. All right, Mr. Skrimjaw. Let's get out of here before that… thing comes back."

The corsairs paused only to load up with as many weapons and belongings as they could carry, then the ragged band of survivors struck out into the forest. Bart took the lead, with the others following along. Skrimjaw kept a wary eye on Yellowfang, Avery dragged his footpaws and muttered dark threats to himself.

After what seemed like hours of trudging through the snow, Bart held up a paw and motioned for everybeast to be quiet.

"What is it, Cap'n?" hissed Skrimjaw, reaching for his cutlass.

"Voices," Bart whispered. "Doesn't sound like a very big group."

The hare turned to his band and grinned. "Let's go and say hello, wot?"


	6. 3: The Finder of Lost Children

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 3. The Finder of Lost Children  
**

_by Vivienne_

Small in stature but grand of movement, Vivienne tore through her nest, running through her pre-mission list of necessaries.

"And don't forget to make sure Burrley gets kitchen duty; if you can pull it off, of course..."

"Yes, Miss Viv."

"Now, you all can use The Nest if you have to, but I'd rather you stay in the Abbey while I'm gone. More eyes on you is a good thing when I'm not around -"

"Viv..."

"- though West Wind knows it's snug enough here when the kitchen fires are going, but I'd rather -"

"Miss Viv..."

" - and the younger ones - remember that we put aside - "

"Viv!"

The feathered flurry faltered at Jinck's tone and glanced over her shoulder. "What?"

"We'll be fine."

"Oh."

"Just like las' time."

"Well..." Vivienne sighed as the weasel patted her shoulder. _Not much taller than him, anymore..._

"Look, find me somethin' good while yer out, eh?" He shot her a wink. "Woodpigeon, maybe?"

She pulled a face and gave him a soft buffet with her wing. "Cheeky little mite." The buffet turned into a hug, as she pulled the kit close. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Keep _two_ eyes on 'em while I'm out, though."

"As always, Viv. Get on, then."

She gave Jinck one final squeeze, then hopped out of the nest and into the chilly morning. The dugout was warm - pressed against the walls of the kitchen as it was - and the outside air set her backfeathers on edge with its sharpness.

"Oy, seedbreath!" Jinck called out to her.

"Hmm?" She turned in time to see an azure blur land in the snow next to her.

"T' keep yer feathers from freezin'!"

Vivienne bent and lifted the object in her beak - a rough, striped scarf that still smelled of The Nest, of home. "Jinck..."

"Go on, then. These mouths won't feed themselves." The voice sounded thicker, and its owner was still markedly absent from view.

"Thank you." She tossed it about her neck and secured it with a tight knot. The fabric was coarse on her soft feathers, but every scratchy movement was a reminder well worth the discomfort.

Vivienne took a few hops before taking off, giving life to two powdery dust devils. They offered a silent farewell to the bird before falling still, returning to their icy ilk.

Mossflower Wood in winter was a sight few could relish like Vivienne could. The Abbey itself, of course, looked magnificent. The quickly shrinking buildings looked like a sea of chefs, tiny, white toques on their flustered, red faces. Farther away, the whole Abbey became a resplendent mug of warm milk, complete with frothy topping. The trees were another matter altogether: not skeletons, as some might say, but a sea of white-mittened paws, open in greeting. The cold months left the forest naked, exposed, but more inviting.

And easier to see through.

Like a clumsy fledgling playing peek-a-boo through its primaries, a flash of color popped between the branches of an elm.

_Ah, ha! And something other than crimson, to boot!_

Vivienne fluttered about for a moment, seeking a branch bare of snow. Taking care to not disturb the powdery tattletale, she picked her way downward, closer. Snatches of conversation wafted up as if on the steam from the beasts' mouths - first dispersed and disparate, then growing more distinct.

"- from th' South -"

"- bloody, 'ellgates-mawed idiot, ya are -"

"I said t'take th' road, Vidya, but did ya -"

At that final phrase, the fox at the lead froze and turned. Her voice was low and flat, an accompaniment to the tension in her set-shouldered stance. "Take th' road? Did ya not see th' vermin we jus' skewer'd? Uniformed, Dirima. Only a mindless git would wander on a open road with an organized band like that about."

_Uniformed? They must've run afoul of a few of our red-armoured friends._ The bird thought to herself, hopping to a low branch, now.

"Wha!" the one named Dirima sputtered a response, his ears blushing, "Did ya 'ear that? Yer shrew of a sister -"

"Stop botherin' 'er, then!" his apparent mate replied.

The band of foxes stopped to watch as the lead vixen and the belligerent tod faced off.

"Jus' because ya can boss yer little sister around, don't mean -"

"That jaw seems t'be working harder than th' rest of ya -"

"- and you think Redwall will -"

Before blows could be had, Vivienne gave a chirp and bounded to the ground. "Redwall!" Her cheery tone silenced the woods about them.

Dirima's mate glanced to one of her compatriots. "Is th' cold getting t'me, or is a bird in a scarf chirpin' at us?"

The tod replied, "Is it a blue one?"

"Scarf or bird?"

The wren shook her head and hopped forward, spreading her wings wide. "Real as the paint flaking off your wagons. You're heading to Redwall?"

"Depends on who's asking..." The lead vixen narrowed her eyes.

"Ah, forgive my ever-lapsing manners, Madame. Vivienne Ludo, at your service." The wren bobbed a stork-like curtsy. "Finder of lost foodstuffs for a full-up fortress of friendship - Redwall Abbey."

The vixen digested this a moment. "A forager for Redwall?"

"Indeed. And though I aimed for a mislaid morsel, I suppose a wayfaring troupe might do. Care for an air-borne escort?"

"Ya can lead us there?"

"Not quite straight as the crow flies, but only because I'm not a crow, Ms..."

"Vidya."

"Well, Ms. Vidya, give my wings a few moments' rest on your cart and I'll gladly show you the way."

"Seems a fair enough trade t'me, Madame Ludo."

While Vivienne's wings enjoyed their erstwhile rest, her beak made up for their spared movement. "I suppose I should tell you a bit about how things are going in the Abbey, shouldn't I? Well, far be it from me to talk ill of Abbot Cloverleaf and his charity, but scarcity has made herself seen this season. I mean, why else would a place of self-appointed plenty send a lady like me out to scout? Every room is packed with a -"

"Please... Miss Ludo. If you -"

"Oh, it's not all bad, of course. I mean, a cozy hearth is better than some frozen earth, eh? Why, I was telling my s- I was telling a friend of mine that there's an upside to too-many bodies in a single place. An empty bowl and grumbling stomach are a small price to pay for a cozy body next to you. Frozen greens are inedible and all that."

"Miss Ludo..."

"Hmm? Oh, I'm just blustering my feathers, dear. There's still food for the season, if you ask me. Folks just aren't used to less at Redwall. And, assuming you've got a little something to offer them, then you'll be greeted with open paws instead of grumbles. You might have your cart searched, of course, but that's the usual with a trompin' lot of vermin armies about."

"Vivienne!"

"Hmm?"

"Can we get moving, please? Th' carts are beginning t'stick in the snow."

"Oh!" The bird hopped into the air and landed on a nearby branch. "Of course! Why, it's just this way. If I disappear a moment, it's just to catch my bearings, mind."

The vixen waved to her troop and they began to march. Under her breath, she muttered, "If ya disappear, I'm sure we'll just have t'keep our ears pricked."

Oblivious, the wren chittered on: "Also, if you've any meat to spare..."


	7. 4: Aye, Caesar, But Not Gone

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 4. Ay, Caesar; But Not Gone.  
**

_by Benedict Salterelli  
_

_I perceive suddenly a speck of corruption. This speck is a tiny one: a gesture, a word, an object, a garment, something unexpected which appears (which dawns) from a region I had never suspected, and suddenly attaches the loved object to a commonplace world._  
-Roland Barthes, _A Lover's Discourse_

-

"Folio. Octavo. Quarto. Duodecimo, if there's a fourth."

"Will you let me be?" Clare seemed to burn like a little white sun. Her paws were tinged with brown, as if she had been born with a measure of tortoiseshell. She had not absolved herself of the red at her neck; she would clean it and the blood would return. "I'm sorry. I meant only that I'm tired."

"You test me sorely. But- Folio. Comical, yes?"

"You wouldn't really name kittens that, though," she said. "I've always liked Julian. Like Gingivere."

"Giuliano. Giuliana is my mother."

"Papa's name. Denys."

"My children are Saltarelli, not Pygott." He smiled and scratched her behind the ears. "You are not that any more."

The cart rollicked along the path. The canvas roof swayed like the belly of a satisfied old tom. Clare threw open the shuttered gate at the front and spoke to their servants, a matched and liveried pair of rats.

"Is it very heavy?"

"Nay, Lady," one said. Benedict could not tell which. "Not terrible. Bruder'n I'd welcome a rest."

"_E chi se ne frega_, eh? You want her to drop kits right here?"

"Don't, sweet," Clare whispered.

A fog obscured his thoughts as he peeked out at the woods. How was it the landscape smeared like wet white paint? He watched the servants' footpaws slurry snow and mud, their shoulders bunch burly-and-brawn.

"There's sommat on the road, ahead of th' curve, Master Salt," one called over his shoulder. "Someone's made a fire."

"Back." He nudged Clare away from the front of the cart. "My rapier."

She pressed the scabbard into his paw. Their cart rounded the bend, and he saw a wildcat standing atop a snowbank. The beasts below him tended to a smoky fire and to their game, a crackling, feather-clad pigeon carcass.

"Well met," the cat said, and he saluted. "State your business."

"We are to Redwall."

"_We are to Redwall_," he said. "A long way from home?"

"Who asks?"

"Lord Cromley, Chief of Staff of the Red Fire Army. As you have deemed fit to pass our lines without acquiescing to the proper protocol, I am afraid you are subject to our rules of encounter. I must inform you that your valuables are now ours, and you shall volunteer to join our ranks. Comply, else you shall be killed." Cromley motioned to the beasts below him. "To arms."

The servants dropped the crossbar, and the cart tilted forward. Clare gasped, scrabbled downhill, and Benedict's rapier clattered to the floor.

"Cowards! No," Clare said, leaning out the door. She cradled her belly. "Excuse me, please. I'm Clare Pygott, of the Mossflower Pygotts? Pygott Mercantile?"

"_Stai zitto_." Benedict hopped out of the cart. Cromley's tail puffed. The two scrutinized each other, crouched, hunched their shoulders.

"A proposition for you, Master Pygott," Cromley said. He raised a paw, and he stepped towards Benedict. "A simple proposition."

"Let me pass."

"You shall. And- and," he said, "calm yourself. You will go to Redwall, I assure you."

A ferret soldier wrenched Benedict's arms behind him. Cromley edged his way around them and offered a paw to Clare. "My lady."

"Don't hurt him." She clambered down from the cart.

"Of course not," he said. "Your husband will go. I have an interest in the abbey. You will come with me, gentle thing." Cromley clutched her wrist like a fat bird with a worm in its claws. Benedict lurched forward, and the ferret yanked him back.

"Not so rash, Pygott," Cromley said. "No worry. You can stay the night in a warm abbey bed. Someone will meet you here the next evening. Tell me what you find, will you? Their hospitality's renowned. I think you understand."

"Let me go, then," Benedict said. The ferret shoved him into the mud, and he hissed.

One of the rat-servants stepped forward, offering his paw. "Master?"

"My name," he yowled, "my _name_ is Benedict Saltarelli. All of you! That is my name!" He rose, kicked a spray of mud at the rat, fell upon him and beat him with needled paws. At each blow, the flesh yielded soft like rotting fruit. The rodent's ear tore away, and Benedict threw it at Cromley's feet. He seethed, spat, struck the rat again and again. The servant crumpled at the side of the road. When he tried to crawl, he left soil-and-blood blotches on the snow.

"Benedict, please- Benedict!" Clare cried. "Don't." She pulled away from Cromley and pressed herself against her husband, combing her claws through his fur. She patted the pocket of his coat, checked it for his bottle. "Just be good."

"You ought to leave," Cromley said. "Turn. It is down that road."

He went.

The snow squealed underfoot and the woods were still. Somewhere up ahead, the Abbey waited. He thought himself the infinite arrow, the one the archer volleys and half-by-quarter-by-eighth makes its way towards a target it will never hit. He felt- not empty, no, but like he had been hollowed out and a bubble of hot poison simmered in his gut. Drifts and mud gave way to hardened, paw-trod snow. As he walked, the shadows lengthened.

Through the knit tree-tops he saw a flicker of pink. There it was, like a lacy palace on a floating piazza. He felt each miserable convulsion of his individual muscles, of his guts knotted and pulled tight. He lapped from his bottle of tonic. His head ached again.

He stood at the gate and stared at the battlements. Poppy-tinged reflux rose in his throat. He knelt and retched and spattered the ground with a trickle of black chyme. He spasmed and fell, and thrashed in the snow. The snow was cold and nothing; he was cold and nothing.

He raised a feeble paw and scratched the gates.


	8. 5: The Rite of Winter

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 5. The Rite of Winter  
**

_by Brooketail  
_

Brooketail tore the helmet from his head and threw it to the ground. There was no beast in sight for miles. All he could see were endless, unremarkable firs, the snow gently enveloping the forest. He was knee deep in the mushy powder, shivering and alone.

"Oi! Captain Loosestrife?" Brooketail called hoarsely. He could hear nothing but his own ragged breathing. He shook his head and slowly bent his knees to pick up the double brimmed sapper's helmet. There was a red smudge on the snow where the helmet had fallen. He furrowed his brow, scooped up a pawful of snow and licked it. Blood.

It was not long before he found three bodies. They were heaped in an undignified pile, inside a hollowed tree trunk. The old soldier heaved out the stiff corpse of a weasel. He immediately saw the cause of death, not even hesitating to stick his nose between the broken links of chain mail into the fatal wound. The body was cold, yet still fresh. Brooketail licked his nose clean of the semi-congealed blood.

"Knifed, curse it!" he growled, examining the other corpses. He saw two rats, well preserved by the cold. The snowdrift had covered their spilt blood, the killer was long gone. He piled fresh snow upon the rats to keep them cool and fresh, should he need more meat. He began to pull the weasel's armour off, checking Loosestrife's pockets for any valuables. He examined a scroll, holding it upside down. Finding the words meaningless, he tossed it away. Brooketail slung Captain Loosestrife over his shoulder and groaned. The captain had been a big weasel in life, and he was downright heavy in death. Brooketail's arms were thick from years of cutting logs, but the load threatened to topple him. He needed a practical solution to return him to camp.

"Brooketail the carpenter, Chief," he stated, standing as smartly as a ferret could when holding a cadaver. The barn had a warm and smoky atmosphere, yet he had the unpleasant sensation that streams of melted snow were sluggishly cascading down his legs and forming a pool on the chief's floor.

"Hm? Oh, yes, yes, Brooketail. New, aren't we? Yes we are! Well, what news do you have today?" Brooketail wondered if he really had to spell it out for Francis. He felt the weasel was singularly disinterested in the urgency of this report.

"I couldn't join the recruiting patrol. Captain Loosestrife has been killed, Chief. Stabbed."

"Oh," Brooketail tried to keep his eyes ahead, whilst Francis examined Loosestrife, "Why then, Brooketail, is he missing his legs?" The ferret glanced awkwardly at the torso he had shouldered all the way to the barn.

"Er, that was my doing. He was too heavy to return in one piece, Chief."

"And his arms?"

"That was me, Chief."

"Ah. No recruits came back?" Brooketail hesitated to put forward his theory. The chief was not known for letting his subordinates think in his presence.

"Well, I think it was the recruits that done it, Chief," he suggested tentatively. Francis looked blankly into his eyes. Brooketail gazed at the weasel's whiskers. He decided that staring back would be insolent, but looking away would be rude. Finally, the chief nodded.

"I see. Dispose of his body, and report back to me."

"Yes, Chief!" Brooketail turned, and trod off heavily. He wound his way past the scattered fires and groups of armoured beasts, only too happy to make way for an old ferret. The Red Fire Army camp was mostly contained within an enormous barn, heavy with the smell of smoke and the odour of vermin. Brooketail smiled warmly, spotting Donnall huddled by a fire. The smile faded as he drew near. He realised that his scrawny son had probably been hugging his knees to his chest the whole evening, not daring to say a word. He dumped the body next to Donnall and raised his axe. The younger ferret sighed.

"Father, I've been thinking," Brooketail swung the axe and grunted. The wet smack made nearby beasts jerk in revulsion. Brooketail sneered. Soldiers, afraid of the sight of blood? What a thought!

"What's on your mind, son?" He looked around, to ward off any beast rude enough to eavesdrop on his conversation. However, the off-duty soldiers were giving their fire a wide berth. Some looked sickened by the ferret's grisly work.

"The guards sometimes fall asleep. I think if I wait till early morning, I… I could sneak out. Would you come too, father?"

"Where, Donnall?" Brooketail eased into a steady rhythm of chopping, as though a log lay before him. He steadied his breathing and stretched his arms, his joints popping. Donnall edged away from the body. The fire hissed at Brooketail on every down stroke, its merry warmth a relief to his wet tail and paws.

"R-Redwall, father?"

"Donnall, never mind the guards should you desert. Nobody will hunt you. Winter will claim you instead," Brooketail hated to crush his son's hopes, but continued, "You have no guide through the woods and if you reach Redwall, the Abbot will not welcome you with open arms. Not while we bear the colour of his enemy."

Brooketail had fashioned two skewers. He threaded a few chunks of flesh through his skewer, and held it over the fire. The flames crackled around the meat, the juices dripping and spitting ecstatically. He relaxed with a sigh, content to hypnotically stare into the glowing embers.

"Father, I-I can't do this. I'm scared of fighting, and… and I don't want to die."

"Rib, son?" Brooketail offered the smoking meat to Donnall, "Think, Donnall. It's here, or starved and frozen in the wilderness. If we stay here, chances are the army will head for Redwall and we'll be one step closer to the children." Donnall looked miserable, slowly chewing his meal. Brooketail put a reassuring paw on his shoulder.

"They'll be fed and kept safe," or else, Brooketail thought. Seeking refuge in Redwall had been a wise decision, but Moonshot's press gangs had torn that plan asunder. The woodlanders had promised hospitality, even to vermin children like his grandsons. Brooketail's gaze turned to Captain Loosestrife. He really ought to dispose of it properly.

Brooketail elected to bury Loosestrife's remains outside the barn. No guard objected to his decision, he was left alone to dig the grave. He lowered the captain into the shallow pit, and stood in silence for a moment. Brooketail found it impossible to bury the dead without a moment of reflection.

"It's always the younger captains," he muttered melancholically. He shovelled the freshly turned earth over the body, wrapping his cloak tightly around his thick frame to keep out the harsh wind. The sun was obscured by the overcast sky, affording him no relief from the chill. The sentries changed shift behind him, the thicker of the two calling out.

"You! Ottermaid! The Chief wants you!" Brooketail stiffened, and turned to glare at the scarfed stoat.

"Oops," the stoat visibly gulped, realising his mistake. Brooketail trudged past him with a foul look. It helped he had a reputation for butchery in the camp. It was the reason the weak Donnall was left alone and it allowed him to keep his carpenter's tools. The down side of this reputation was beasts like Francis Moonshot thought him useful when it came to dirty work.

Brooketail headed indoors, wondering what Francis wanted next. He stood before his chief, eyeing a buzzard that he had not seen in the camp before. The buzzard in turn was eyeing his bloodstained felling axe with too much interest.

"Brooketail, was it not?" Francis enquired, barely glancing up at him. The ferret was stoically ignoring the fact that Moonshot was lovingly stroking a green stone.

"Yes, Chief."

"You seem a beast with a head on his shoulders, my good Brooketail. And Solgrim as well! Aren't we lucky to have run into such able beasts? Yes, we are!" Brooketail realised that Francis was conversing with the stone. Maintaining a blank expression became a precarious exercise for him, but Francis did not seem to care what any beast thought of it.

"Anyway, you two will find those responsible for tarring the reputation of my army. Locate them, and pay them duly for their crime."

"Yes, Chief!" Brooketail took the weasel's preoccupation with the green gem as a sign he should leave. The weasel sounded quite miffed, Brooketail knew it would not do for the Red Fire Army to be humiliated by passing travellers. He wondered if Francis could remember the name of the captain that had been killed. He noticed the buzzard follow him, still looking at the ferret intently, eager to see if he had any more weapons. He decided to try and break the silence.

"So, what's a bird doing…?"

"Mercenary," Solgrim snapped. Brooketail noticed a touch of exasperation in the buzzard's voice.

"Mercenary doing… oh, I see," he finished, not even bothering to ask for clarification. He sensed this was not the time to ask too many questions.

"I'm Brooketail. How d'you do?"

"Solgrim. You are a warrior?" Brooketail thought he sensed a touch of excitement in the buzzard's question. They walked on, soldiers skirting around them and avoiding eye contact.

"I fight if need be. Carpentry's my trade."

"But you are in the Army?"

"Not by choice," he murmured, and checked to make certain Francis was well out of earshot. The chief had gone behind his curtain, presumably to continue caressing a green rock.

"Once again, I have been pressed into service. My son is here also."

"Is he a warrior?"

Brooketail chuckled, and shook his head.

"Hardly. All Donnall ever does is write pointless ditties and poems. I tried teaching him to wrestle and hunt, but he hates the idea," he pointed out his son, whom looked up, and jumped back instinctively at the sight of the approaching buzzard.

"F-father? What's going on?"

"Got orders to move out, son. This is Solgrim. Solgrim, this is Donnall," he noticed that Donnall was fidgeting more than usual, clenching his paws and twitching.

"I think would be best if you stayed here, son," Brooketail gave Solgrim a knowing glance and a small grin, whilst Donnall breathed a sigh of relief. Brooketail's chipped ears perked up, hearing a slight cough. He turned to see a tall, thin stoat. He had a wooden leg, a brown apron and a green hat.

"Er, no injuries to report, sergeant," Brooketail looked at the doctor quizzically, and received a withering stare in return.

"No. I'm on patrol, with the old ferret and the buzzard."

"Mercenary," Brooketail interrupted, before Solgrim became irate, "I'm Brooketail, and this is Solgrim."

"Doctor Sage Josephson. Ready? Good. We're going."

Brooketail had to hurry after Sage, who strode off without waiting. The ferret could tell that he was in a bad mood. Solgrim took the lead, as they approached the door. The sight of the buzzard alarmed the guards, the scarfed stoat on duty stuttering in surprise.

"H-Hey! Whassat bird doin' here?" Brooketail could not help but beam as the mercenary beat his wings and knocked the sentry into the snow, with a satisfyingly wet thud.

"Mercenary! Solgrim,"

"And friends!" added Brooketail, stepping over the supine stoat. Sage groaned and followed the two soldiers into the white fields, the fresh air a welcome change from the musty smell of the barn.

"Where did you find the bodies?" Solgrim enquired, scanning the horizon.

"Yon forest. The snow's covered their tracks though," Brooketail waded ahead through the deep snowfall, leading the group into the thicket of trees. He had travelled far today and was breathing too heavily to speak. Sage had also lapsed into silence behind him. Solgrim circled overhead, impatiently waiting for the land-bound beasts to hurry along.

They had been travelling for the better part of an hour, when Brooketail stopped and held up a paw. They were following the meandering set of obscure landmarks, boulders and clearings that he had noticed on his first journey to meet with Captain Loosestrife. He pointed to the hollowed out tree. Sage disdainfully examined the snowed-in corpses, whilst Solgrim landed.

"No tracks," Solgrim observed. Brooketail frowned in agreement.

"Still, they didn't disappear," Brooketail mused, wandering to a cluster of spindly bushes. He carefully knelt, clenching his teeth.

"See this? These bushes were crushed," he grinned, and looked back at the buzzard. He hurried through the gap in the tree, eyes roving for evidence. He made a mental note to ask about Sage's wooden leg some time, as the doctor stumped after them.

"There!" He loped towards his next find. Ashes, lightly scattered across the fresh layer of snow. He began to furiously sweep the snow, his paws covered in soot. Wet, burnt wood and cinders soon appeared in the shallow hole. Even in the midst of winter, they were still warm after the fire's intense heat.

"They were here. They made camp. There's no road around here, they must be making their own way through the woods. We can trace them," Brooketail began pacing to and fro, whiskers twitching.

"And how exactly do you know all this?" Sage asked, folding his arms. Brooketail hesitated, and glanced back at the sergeant. Solgrim was looking at him curiously, Sage had raised his eyebrows.

"Many years in soldiery, sergeant. Suffice to say I picked up a few tricks," he replied haltingly. He examined the snapped branches of a dead tree, and nodded. 'This way!"

They had picked up the trail.


	9. 6: No Rest for the Weary

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 6. No Rest For the Weary  
**

_by Sage  
_

_Doc Daneeka snorted scornfully. "He thinks he's got troubles? What about me?"_ -Joseph Heller, _Catch-22_

"What seems to be the problem?"

Sage leaned back in his chair and took a gulp from the bottle held in his paw, "There's no problem, Doc. It's just my nurse: she hides my drinks if I don't go here once a month."

"Oh?" asked the small ferret sitting across from him, "No problems at all? What about that rat a couple weeks ago? You were drunk when you performed the surgery and cut off the wrong leg. Then you looked at him for a while, said 'Oh well, what the hell,' stabbed him in the neck, cut off his other leg, and then brought what was left to the cook. I'm sure you remember."

Sage shrugged dismissively, "It's not like he could have lived a productive life with no legs. Besides, he wasn't important."

"And how do you define 'important?'"

"If he died, would the army noticeably suffered? When that fever went through the camp quite a few high-ranking beasts died, and the army had a rough time after that. Thus, they were important. Now this rat, he was a common foot soldier. You can get them by the dozen. He was not important."

Doc sighed. Sage always had been an annoying case, and the ferret didn't think that he was close to getting through to him at all. He decided to change the subject.

"I noticed that you're still dyeing your fur brown in the winter. This peculiar aversion that you have to the colors white and red together would be much easier to manage if you weren't a stoat."

"It would be easier to manage if we didn't have bloody red uniforms," replied Sage.

"You really are going to have to get over that. It was eight seasons ago."

The stoat lay still for a while, and then asked, "How do you know all this, anyway?"

"Well, your nurse told me about the rat. As for the battle, I'm still a soldier for all that I act as a therapist. I was there, you see," said Doc.

"Ah. You were, were you?"

"Yes."

"I did everything I could, you know that, right?"

"Definitely. You acted very admirably."

Sage seemed about to speak, but changed his mind and took a drink from his bottle instead. After he was finished he got up abruptly from his chair and started walking out of the tent, saying, "Well, I think we're done here."

However, when the stoat reached the entrance he stopped and turned his head as if he had suddenly thought of something.

"Why is it you do this, anyway? I should think you have better things to do than talk with a bunch of whiny idiots," he said.

"Honestly? I started doing this because I wanted to pick up a few odd coppers when I didn't have any patrols to do, and I've always had a gift for listening. Though I do like to think that I make a positive difference. Remember all those suicides that didn't happen last season?" said the ferret.

"No," replied Sage.

"Exactly. Now be on your way."

The peg-legged stoat limped across the barn's floor, finishing his bottle and throwing it behind him on the way, and arrived at the medical tent. Ducking under the flap, he entered the domain where he reigned more or less supreme.

As domains go, it wasn't much. A line of drawers took up the left wall and the operating table sat off to the right. The third wall was wooden, as the tent was placed against the side of the barn. A dartboard was mounted on this wall and a mass of holes to the right of it testified to the effect of a wooden leg on one's accuracy. Underneath the dartboard was a simple cot furnished with a thin blanket.

Sage stamped in and threw his beret on to a mustelid skull that was on top of the cabinet closest to the entrance. He brushed past the female stoat who served as both his nurse and apprentice and wrenched open one of the drawers. He took a bottle of rum out and used a dagger produced from his apron pocket to remove the cork.

"It didn't go very well, did it?" asked the nurse.

Sage drained half the bottle before answering, "About as badly as it could have gone. I swear, does that ferret _enjoy_ making me suffer?"

"I'm sure that it's for your own good…"

"Who is he to decide what's good for me? If I don't want to remember some things it sure as 'gates means that he shouldn't go dredging them up."

The female stoat moved out of Sage's paw range before saying, "Maybe if you showed some signs of improvement, like maybe not dyeing your fur. That doesn't make any sense."

"You don't understand. Red and white together- I don't want to _remember_, Vulpuz dammit!"

The stoat hurled the now empty bottle at the wall, but due to his partial intoxication, anger, and missing leg it veered to the right and shattered on the dartboard. Sage stomped over to the cot, shook the glass shards out of the blanket, and lay down.

"Now bugger off. I need a rest."

However, the nurse had barely left when a weasel stuck his head through the tent flap.

"Sergeant Josephson? Chief Moonshot demands to see you immediately. Says it's an emergency."

The stoat swore under his breath but stood up just the same. He walked out of the tent, picking back up his beret on the way, muttering, "Damn pansy probably scratched himself again. If I'm being called on another fake injury I'm going to…"

Sage limped across the barn to where Francis Moonshot had set up his cot. He saw that the Chief was talking with some old ferret and that hawk, Sol-something, and decided to loiter nearby until his direct presence was required. Sage caught sight of some papers haphazardly strewn about the floor and picked one up at random. It was Cromley's group's report of what had happened at the old castle. Sage browsed idly through it, but felt something kicking at his memory while he did so. Before he could examine the paper in detail, however, Francis's meeting drew to a close.

"Anyway, you two will find those responsible for tarring the reputation of my army. Locate them, and pay them duly for their crime," finished the weasel.

Moonshot then seemed to realize that Sage was standing there, "Ah-ha! Dr. Josephson! Excellent, excellent! Come and look at this!"

The stoat folded up the paper and put it in his apron pocket, then walked over and examined the weasel's outstretched arm. If you looked hard, you could discern a tiny scratch underneath the fur. It appeared to be recently inflicted, but already almost healed.

"What do you want me to do about that?" asked Sage, a shade irritated.

"Excuse me? What do you _think_ I want you to do? Heal it!"

"I could kiss it and make it better if you'd like," said the stoat sourly.

"Insolence! This scratch will scar, and then my beauty will be ruined forever!" The weasel was almost shouting.

"I'm a doctor, not a beautician, dammit! That's just a tiny scratch! It'll go away on its own. Vulpuz help me, but if you keep calling me over here on these bloody trifles I'm going to cut off your damn leg so that you know what a real injury is!"

Francis was shaking with rage, but he managed to compose himself.

Why, you..." growled the weasel. "Oh, I see, Doctor. Yes, yes, yes, how very nice. Too touchy to do your job, hm? Well, if actually healing battle scars isn't up your street, perhaps you will enjoy a slightly more brainless task. Attend to Solgrim. Now shoo."


	10. 7: A Meeting Chanced in Solitude

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 7. A Meeting Chanced in Solitude  
**

_by Kapler  
_

_"Who's there, besides foul weather?"_

"One minded like the weather, most unquietly."  
~ From _The Tragedy of King Lear_

"Is it just you? Any family or friends?"

"Just me." Some of the questions had caused him pause, but Kapler didn't even have to think about that one.

"Hm, that makes it easier to find you a spot." The recorder scratched something down on parchment and consulted a thick book. Flipping through several pages, he stopped and smiled. "Looks like Doctor Song's room isn't filled up yet. I'll stick you in there." Leaning back in his chair, he cupped his paws and shouted outside. "Bounder!"

A harried-looking mouse appeared at the doorway. "Yes, Brother Quincy?"

"Would you take Kapler here to Doctor Song's room? He'll be staying there."

"Sure, okay. Come on, mate."

Kapler slung his bag over his shoulder and stepped after. "Thank you, Quincy, sir."

The hare smiled warm enough to melt the frost still clinging to Kapler's fur. "That's what I'm here for. Welcome to Redwall."

Following after Bounder, Kapler trudged through the snow towards the main abbey building. Stamping their cold footpaws on the steps, they pulled open the large double doors. Warm air tumbled out, eager to explore the outside world.

"Inside, quick. Don't let all the heat out." Slamming the door behind him, Bounder motioned around him with a sincere lack of enthusiasm. "Welcome to Redwall."

"Thanks." Kapler nodded and stared at the mass of occupants, silently contemplating how much uncared for stuff must be strewn about this place. He took his bag off his shoulder and hugged it to his chest, not wanting to chance losing it.

"Stay close to me." Bounder began pushing through the crowd, Kapler scrambling to follow after.

""Scuse us, matey! Comin' through."

Distracted by a tapestry on the wall, Kapler was pulled out of the way by his guide. A pair of otters barreled past, muscles surging under their clothing. carrying what looked like a sleeping cat.

Kapler watched the two shouting otters disappear around the corner. "Busy day?"

"You have no idea."

As Bounder led Kapler through the Abbey, they passed by creatures of all sorts, both woodlanders and vermin. The hallways were crowded with bodies and chatter, a buzz that grated against Kapler's ears. After traversing several hallways and staircases, the pair arrived at a closed door.

"Here's where you'll be staying. There's a cot inside. I'm sure Doctor Song will welcome you right quick. If the ol' hedgehog remembers to come back, anyways." Bounder laughed at what must have been a private joke and scurried down the hall.

With not many other options, Kapler opened the door and entered the room. Inside, another mouse was crouched down, tending to something. "Hello?"

Turning around, the mouse smiled. "Oh, hello. Are you the other one staying with Doctor Song?"

"Er, yeah. I'm Kapler."

"Twoflower. I'm a healer."

Moving closer to peer around Twoflower, Kapler saw the cat from earlier stripped of his clothes and sprawled on a cot. He looked well-fed but sickly. "Who's that?"

"Not sure. We found him unconscious outside the front gate."

"What's wrong with his fur? Some kind of disease?" Kapler backed away several steps. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to be rooming with this cat. If it was some kind of sickness, close quarters with him was the last thing he wanted.

"Not sure, actually." Noticing Kapler's anxious face, Twoflower smiled. "Don't worry. Doesn't look like mange. Or any kind of disease."

Kapler stared at the unconscious cat, his mottled skin like upturned sod, thin fur sprouting tenaciously here and there. "Are you…are you sure? I mean, I've seen pictures of cats and they didn't look like him."

Twoflower ran a gentle paw across the cat's scabbed skin. "I think he's a different kind of cat."

_There are different kinds of cats?_ Kapler swallowed. _Isn't one kind enough?_

A knock at the door and a green-habited squirrel pushed into the room. "Hey Twoflower! Sister Laura's dibbuns aren't feeling well again. She's wondering if you can take a look."

"Probably chewing on candlesticks again." Twoflower pulled several blankets over the cat, carefully arranging them up around his chin. "All right, I'm on my way."

She was going to leave him alone with this cat? "Uh, so, you'll come back after that? I mean, what if he dies or wakes up or something?"

"He's just exhausted." The mouse gathered her things and slipped them into her bag. Stopping by the door, she looked at Kapler. "Come find a brother or sister when he wakes up. We need to find out who he is."

"But, what if…"

And then she was gone.

With a slow, almost comically so, spin on his heel, Kapler stared at the only other occupant in the room.

The cat thrashed under the blankets, a tussling mound of fur and fabric that ended with the disgraced blanket on the floor. With fluttering eyelids and a purring rumble in his throat, he settled back into stillness.

Swallowing again, Kapler dropped his bag on his cot and began exploring the room. It was filled to bursting with every random object imaginable. Springs and metal rods balanced precariously, squeezed between books stacked on bowls resting on shelves built into the walls.

After a careful survey of everything, the vole finally decided. A neatly-folded stack of clothing lay on a small end table next to the slumbering cat. On top of those clothes sat a small flask, sparkling in the ambient light. He slinked to the phial but froze when the sleeping figure stirred. Back to sleep, back to sleep. When the cat again settled down, Kapler's breath stuttered out with a skipping hop. His paws were beginning to shake and his ears to twitch. He hoped this Russel Song fellow was keeping himself very busy somewhere.

Muscles tensed, he slowly, slowly reached towards the vial. It glistened smugly, inches away. _I shouldn't do this. I just got here._ He was almost touching it now. _Don't want to get kicked out._ His pawtips slid along the smooth glass. It was cool to the touch. _Never survive in the snow. Shouldn't do it. Just leave it, Kap. No one's here. Just leave…_

Relief crashed down, a deluge of satisfaction washing away his stress as he stared at the small bottle clutched in his paw. It was heavy, comfortably heavy – a dear friend he had just met. He swirled the reddish-brown liquid, mesmerized by its gyrations.

_Aren't you a beauty!_ Tucking his prize into a pocket of his coat, Kapler stretched. When he looked at the cat again, Kapler found himself being examined with a predatory stare. It was like being probed with nettles.

"Um, hello." Kapler smiled, taking care that his smile didn't waver. He had heard somewhere that cats went after weaker creatures. Once he showed he was intimidated, it was all over. His nose twitched.

"Where am I?" The words were curt and clean, laundered and hung out to dry in the chill air.

Kapler resisted the urge to lick his suddenly dry lips. _Strong front strong front strong front._ "Redwall. You're at Redwall."

"Redwall…Good. Why don't I have clothes on?"

"They found you at the front gate and brought you up here. One of their healers looked you over to make sure you're okay. I'm Kapler, by the way. Got here same time as you." Kapler hoped his words hadn't run together too much.

Benedict picked up the pile of clothes next to his cot, giving it a cursory glance. "Benedict Saltarelli."

"Oh, those clothes are yours?"

Benedict eyed Kapler, something unsettling in his look. "Why?"

"No, no reason. I'll turn around."

While Benedict dressed, Kapler studied a crowded shelf. Its dusty contents screamed to be picked up. A familiar itch started, an irritation that seeped through his limbs like yeast through dough. Kapler glanced quickly at his odd acquaintance.

Benedict was nearly dressed but looked distracted, searching for something in his pockets. He paid no attention to the vole.

A yowl filled the air, vibrating heavily in Kapler's ears. Pounding paws were followed by pounding pressure as he was spun around and slammed against the wall.

Looking much more dignified with clothes, Benedict glared at Kapler. Deadly cat with deadly claws. "Where's my tincture?"

Kapler scrabbled for purchase, claws scratching ineffectually at Benedict's arm. It was like fighting a log. "T-tincture?" As his windpipe slowly deflated, it was harder and harder to think. "Hedge'og took it?"

The pressure increased as the manic cat loomed closer, noses almost touching. The thick scent that rolled off his tongue was cloying, nauseating. "What hedgehog?"

Kapler waved his paws, trying to indicate the room at large. "His place."

The floor embraced Kapler as Benedict swirled away. Curling into a ball, the vole coughed and wheezed. As he calmed, frenetic pawsteps and angry mutterings caused Kapler to look up. He glowered through bleary eyes as his assailant paced around the room, opening cupboards and peering at shelves.

Now that he could actually think, it wasn't hard to figure out what Benedict was searching for. If those were his clothes, it must have been his drink on top. The bottle in Kapler's pocket weighed down heavily, a leaden lump that threatened his conscience.

Crawling to his cot, he slumped down and hugged his bag to his chest, keeping careful watch on the cat. Guilt nagged at him, and he did his best to pay it no mind. The thought of what Benedict would do if he discovered Kapler really had taken his tincture…_Nope. No way am I giving it back now._

Benedict appeared in front of Kapler "What's in the bag?"

Kapler couldn't help it; he shuddered. "Not your tincture. I told you I didn't take it."

"Open it."

Kapler jerked away, ears flattened in fear. "No!"

"I am Benedict Saltarelli! You will do as I say."

Anger began to replace fear. He didn't care who this cat was! "I didn't take your tincture. Don't care if you believe me, but you're not looking through my stuff." Kapler matched Benedict's gaze with one hopefully as intense.

It must have worked; a moment later, Benedict clawed at the air and stalked angrily to his cot. Before Kapler could so much as start breathing again, in burst a hedgehog looking much too optimistic for the situation.

"Hello, lads!"


	11. 8: Cue Theremin Music

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 8. Cue Theremin Music  
**

_by Russel  
_

"Right smart lad who thought up the pulley," said Doctor Song over dinner. As was usual, his guests were all paying apt attention to him. Well, perhaps not all of them and even then, perhaps not all those paying attention were paying apt attention. Certainly not if you were going by the formula for apt attention, which took into account the amount of eye contact over the words said minus background distractions, but that was an old equation scribbled in the corner of a blackboard for a joke one time and not worth mentioning. He shouldn't have even thought about it, really.

"A beast has this idea, sling a rope over a scaffolding to help pull something up, right? Or at least something like that, who knows, not as though I was around when it happened, eh? But then, another beast thinks, why not make a specific little wheel to do the work? Less friction there. And a right problem friction is, always getting in the way –"

"Dad."

"Messing up calculations. But then _another_ beast gets an idea, see, to combine two pulleys into one. It's called a…a…"

"Dad, please."

"No, it's not that, it's more like a…something you keep things in with something you do to a creature by running an'…what's that called, when you run at somebeast and you just sort of run into them?"

"Dad!"

"Yes?"

"The abbot is saying grace."

Russel fancied his jaw squeaked to a halt as he looked about. Everybeast had been looking at him but upon closer inspection their expressions weren't those of attentiveness. They were staring. Glaring, someone might say, although that might not have been the right verb. It sounded much too harsh.

"Right, sorry!" he announced to anybeast that could hear. Which was apparently all of them. My but sound did carry when you were suddenly thrust into a large room after being cooped up in your study all alone for the entire day. It was more like the entire week, Russel reflected. Or rather the entire month. Perhaps the whole season; he'd run out of room on the paper where he'd tallied the days, a practice he'd begun so as not to loose track when working on a hefty project. Even as he sat, listening as Father Cloverleaf's words wafted through the air, bourn up on the mingling aromas of food which coated the atmosphere of the Great Hall, he was eager to return to the sanctity of his study.

Which reminded him as the abbot wound up his grace, he wouldn't be working alone in his study for much longer. Well, he hadn't been alone before since David often assisted him, but still. Just today a little bird had told him, well, it wasn't a little bird, more like a roarin' great otter, that he was going to have to share his considerable study with someone. Two someones, actually. This idea delighted and terrified the hog to no end.

David seemed to sense his confusion.

"I saw the two creatures they're moving in with us."

"Really? None of them, er, seem to have particularly greasy paws, do they? Any of them pick their fangs or sneeze without covering their snouts?"

His son's snout wrinkled into a smile, presumably at his father's vaguely concealed distraught expression. "Not as such, no. Not that I noticed."

"Just who or what, rather, might they be, hm?"

David's eyes turned skyward, or rather ceiling-ward, as he thought. "A vole aaaaand some sort of cat, if I remember correctly. Don't know too much about the cat since he was too ill to speak to Skipper and the others who helped him in, but the vole's name is Kapler."

Russel's brain scarcely allowed him to listen to the last of his son's speech, clamping instead around the previous fact David had let off.

"Ill? Is it serous?"

"They don't know. Skip reckons it was the cold."

"Was he drooling or wheezing, anything like that?"

"Dad!" his son said, shoving him in a mock-disgusted manner. "Seriously, what is it with you every time I bring up that someone might be remotely sick?"

The elder hog widened his eyes and shrugged. Well, then! His son should know very well why he was interested; he was a beast of science! What was more, he had more than a bit of a personal connection, something he was surprised his normally sharp boy had forgotten. Russel hadn't seen his wife in the past week, but he knew she still wasn't fit to leave the infirmary.

"That reminds me," said Russel as he started into his potatoes. "Have you been down lately to see your…your…" A bit of potato trickled out of his spoon while his son stared at him with a mixture of confusion and concern.

"Dad?"

Russel set his spoon down, rubbed his temples with both paws before letting his palms drag down his face. He remembered. For a blasted, burning second, he remembered all at once.

"It's nothing," he insisted. Then, realizing he had perhaps snapped just a bit. "Nothing, David. Eat up. You can have mine if you're still hungry after." He passed his plate towards his son as he got to his feet. He didn't feel like eating, not after his brain had punched a hole in his stomach.

Russel took a walk. He liked a good walk. Always helped him clear his mind. The hog looked out onto the abbey lawn, now layered with snow, the odd lump collecting here and there. It reminded him of the sawdust that coated the floor of his study after a night with his tools. He went to sit down but suddenly remembered that it was snowing out, which meant it was cold, which meant that it would only get him a damp, freezing bottom and a scolding from the nurse when he ran to her from getting sick from sitting down in the snow like a blasted idiot. A breeze ruffled his spikes, causing him to bristle a bit, his neck receding as he unconsciously began to curl up. Russel's paws dove for cover in his coat to find that his left pocket was putting up a bit more resistance than usual. From out of his pocket he drew a note, now tattered from his paw, tinged the familiar yellow of his personal parchment.

_Don't forget; revise entry 23, book 12  
-Russel_

The hog smiled to himself. His own signature and script was unmistakable. How thoughtful he was, reminding himself to finish an entry he would have forgotten otherwise. Little things like that showed him that he really did care, even if he didn't show it from time to time.

"Hello, lads!"

Russel's ears expected to be met with a hearty cry of, "Hello, Doctor Song!" yet were sorely disappointed when no such answer came. His eyes, on the other paw, were at least given a decent greeting; a smile from the vole and a confused look from the rather distressed looking cat off to one side.

A quick glance to the left; all of his books, journals and tomes were in place. A quick glance to his right; each and every screw, gear, tool, bit and bob were in their respective boxes, with not a hair out of place, most of all in the tiny display of hair he'd put off to the side for closer study.  
"Welcome to my study!" he greeted them. "You must be Kapler, what a pleasure to meet you my fine young friend. Name's Russel. Doctor Russel Song."

He gave the vole's paw a hearty shake.

"Uh, likewise. Glad to be here, s'pecially since the alternative's a bit less cozy and hospitable."  
Russel nodded, his spikes clattering against each other. "Don't I believe that, friend, don't I believe that. Why I was just up an' about for a walk not…" He gave a quick glance to his newest invention. He loved getting to do that. "Not but three minutes ago – whew! Someone must've stolen mother nature's bed warmer because she is in a right nasty mood."

"What's a minute?"

"Tell you in about five minutes, my good Kap." He wheeled on the cat, whose head bobbed away from Russel when he approached. "And you must be?"

The question fluttered on the wind before soundlessly rustling to the floor. Then, a good – Russel glanced at the device again – ten seconds after the fact, the cat answered.

"Benedict Saltarelli."

"Ah, very exotic sounding name. Must be new to Mossflower, yes?"

"Yes."

"Course you are, course you are. 'Course, I suppose there's always the chance you lived nearby all this time and your parents were just very imaginative."

"That is not the case."

"Care for some tea?"

"No."

Russel's ears were again disappointed when the "thank you," which traditionally accompanied a refusal never came. Turning on his heels, he decided to offer the friendlier out of his two new roommates.

"Kap?"

The vole jumped. It looked as though he had been focused very intently on something not a moment ago. "What?"

"Tea?"

"Yes, yes, thank you."

The hog rustled his spikes approvingly. So that's where the manners had gone and hid, inside that vole.

"I'd be happy to oblige, then, soon as I can find my…" Though his paws continued to pat his person, his eyes joining in the search by roving about the room, he couldn't seem to find what he was looking for.

"Fifth shelf, third cubby on the left, right next to the broken bobble," recited a voice with a speed and accuracy that would have made an academic text flush with envy.

Russel turned. David was standing in the doorway, a small tea tray in his paws, which was leaden down with biscuits, a few scones, tea cups and saucers.

"Knowing you, I knew you'd offer them tea and, well, since you don't have any biscuits and since the cook owed me a favor…"

With a smile that tickled his ears, Russel closed the gap between them and affectionately pat his son on the head. "Well done, my lad, well done. Don't know what I'd do with myself without you. Probably lose me own head."

"Well, if you did it'd probably be on the eleventh row, ninth cubby from the right. It's the only compartment that's big enough."

"Oy!" the doctor protested, barely audible above his son's chuckling. "I'll have you know, my head weren't this big all of the ideas inside'd be likely to slip out."

"They've already started; have you seen how dirty the floor is?"

The two hogs practically laughed in unison until Benedict decided to interrupt.

"Getting back to more important things, I was just discussing the matter of my missing…my missing tincture with Kapler."

Russle bristled his spikes reflectively. "Tincture? Maybe it got mixed in with mine. You could say I'm a bit of a collector. Allow me to check –"

"I took the liberty already."

The hog blanched. Without instruction from his brain, his eyes ran towards the shelf in question. The cat _had_ gone through his things, he just hadn't looked hard enough earlier.

"Well then," breathed Russel with the edge of a beast losing his breath due to some inner turmoil. "If it is not there, then it follows that it is…somewhere else."

"That is generally the case, yes."

Resisting the urge to glare at Benedict, he swiftly added, "Meaning that perhaps it's somewhere other than here. Perhaps you could inquire to Skipper as to the whereabouts of your tincture."

"I should like to continue searching here," said Benedict.

Russel had several things that he should like to have happened, but he kept most of them contained within his head, as they should be with younger ears walking about.

"You know what always helps me? A walk. A nice, long walk."

"I do not think-"

"If Skipper doesn't know, perhaps the Abbot does."

He willed the cat to leave. All he had to do was leave and Russel could sit and have his tea and keep his mind off of the idea that a creature, a creature whom he had never met, had been through his things without so much as his written permission.

"We'll look for your tincture while you're gone, promise."

If Kapler's fidgeting was any indication, the vole wanted Benedict gone as much as Russel did. After a few tense seconds, seconds of which Russel was made acutely aware due to the deliberate heartbeat of his creation, the cat seemed to nod.

"Very well," said Benedict in a tone that suggested he felt anything but.

The hog closed the door after the cat, eager as a cook closes a door to a pie thief. He lingered for two ticks of the clock before wheeling around, snapping his fingers and proclaiming, "Block and tackle!"

At the look on Kapler's face he shook his head.

"Sorry, that's not important right now. Anyway, where were we…that's right, tea!"

Soon enough the study was filled with the cheery whistling of a tea kettle, the friendly chattering of little cups against saucers, the comforting, flowing steam that could only come from a warm cup of tea.

Russel's nose danced about as he savored the aroma. "Good cup 'a tea, that's all you need sometimes. Why, I once knew this healer, oh so many seasons ago…well, actually, it might have been last season…last week? No, couldn't possibly be. Anyway, she was a fascinating creature, had a bag of tea for just about any illness. Great healer, she was…though, she was a bit…odd."

Emerging from his tea cup, Kapler ran the back of his arm across his snout and responded.

"Can't say I know much about medicine but this is just what I needed after the day I've had."

The hog leaned forward. "Ah, a story? I love stories, can't get enough of 'em."

Kapler shook his head. "Nothing much. I was traveling with some beasts, then I was traveling, minus some beasts."

"Bit of a spat?"

"Differences in opinion."

"Ah, yes, I realize how that can be." Sensing the vole didn't want to continue down that path, Russel decided to change course. "And before that?"

The vole shrugged. "Simple life, really. Mum and dad, house over my head."

"Yeah, that's me as well. 'Course, more like an abbey over my head, but still, simple life. No tormented childhood, no dragons to slay for revenge or for a damsel or for a treasure, no wars or plagues or famines to fight. Just this," he gestured with both paws to his study. "I like it like this, though. Keeps life interesting without getting _too_ interesting, if you catch my drift."

The hog's brows creased as he got to his feet, pulled along by his head. He spied something curious outside the window

"Speaking of interesting…"

Russel had seen birds and he had seen scarves, but he had never seen the two together. Hearing Kapler's footsteps trailing behind him, the hog peered out the window at the curious sight, then flung the door open when he recognized the feathered figure soaring away on the winter air.

"Oy, Vivienne! That's Vivienne," he explained to the vole. "Kind soul, she is, offer you her scone even if she were starving. Oy, Viv's! Nice scarf!"

The wren didn't appear to notice Russel, but the hog noticed something else. Several somethings. Several red somethings, their wares clearly delineating them from the surrounding snow and dead trees.

David, who's previously been tending to the tea stuffs, squeezed in between his father and their guest.

"They've gotten closer," said David.

The elder hog nodded. "Aye…Kap, you know that simple life I was talking about?"

"Yeah?"

"I've a feeling things will soon get too interesting."

With timing that would have made any dramatist or playwright proud, the door to the study burst open. Framed in the doorway was a very disheveled looking Benedict. Apparently walks didn't do him as good as they did Russel. Well, maybe it had just been a short walk.

"Tea?" Russel started to say, but it came out as more of a "T" sound before the cat plopped down in a chair and answered as sharp as a razor.

"Yes."

Again the clock counted down the seconds of the tense silence, joined by the almost fearful sloshing of the hot tea in the last tea cup.

"David, why don't you find me book 12, eh?" said the doctor as his paw brushed against the note in his coat pocket. He'd forgotten to take the thing off earlier. No wonder it had felt so hot inside.

"Kap, do you need anything else?"

The hog thought he might have to repeat himself as Kapler took a second to respond.

"What? Oh. No, thanks."

The hog took the book from his son with a muttered "thank you" before his fingers began to crawl through the pages. He was at war with himself. Well, maybe not a war, certainly not a _war_. Perhaps a bit of a quarrel was more like it. Typically, he and himself got along swimmingly with one another, as evidenced by how he'd left himself the little note from before. And when he and himself disagreed, there'd usually only be an argument and at the most they'd not talk to each other for awhile. Now, though, he didn't know what to do with himself; in one corner of the room he had a clearly uncomfortable beast and Russel did not like his guests to go uncomfortable on him. In that same corner was a beast who'd been through his things and didn't really look the type for asking for help.

At the end, Russel got the better of himself and decided to speak up.

"Did you enjoy your walk?"

"Not as such, no."

"Well, that's just because you weren't walking in the right place. Tell you what, few minutes time, I'll take a walk with you."

"That will not be necessary."

"Oh, come on! I just wanna show you around, show you all of the interesting spots. If you're going to be here awhile, best if you know where you're going when you're out and about."

Russel continued to leaf through his book while Kapler sipped his tea with a noticeable nervous edge. Something he'd said appeared to have changed the cat's mind, however, as after a few moments he agreed.

"Very well."

"See, nothing to get upset…about…"

Russel's speech slowed as he happened upon the page to which his note had referred him. It was a pretty unremarkable thing at first glance, really, same old page as any other, flat, made from paper, writing in ink on it, that sort of thing. Only Russel didn't remember the little note in the corner of the page.

_Remember. Remember the corridor. Remember what you saw there, what you heard there. Try to remember.  
-Russel_

No mistaking it, that was his script once again. He barely noticed his view tilt as his head began to loll while he considered the page.

"Dad?"

He snapped his head up to face his son, startling him on accident.

"Are you alright?"

"Hm? Oh. Oh yes, sorry. Yes, I'm fine David, fine. Right as rain, as they might say…although it makes a body wonder, how right _is_ rain, especially since everybeast always seems to gloomy when it comes around."

Springing to his feet, he shut the thick book, set it on the table, then made his way to his desk.

"Right then, I'm going to run my usual research. David, mind the journals if you would, notate things when I tell them to you. Kapler? Would you care to assist me?"

The vole seemed quite taken aback at the request. "Sure, sure. I'd love to."

"Benedict?"

"No."

"Figured as much. So! Hand me that little screwdriver thingummy over there and we can begin."

As Russel's paws set about their work, he began to quarrel with himself again. Russel tried desperately to remember the significance of the vague corridor mentioned in his notes and anything he might have heard there at any point in time, while he himself tried desperately not to let his mind so much as lean in that direction.


	12. 9: Our Wills and Fates

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 9. Our Wills and Fates Do So Contrary Run  
**

_by Vidya  
_

Vidya looked up at the high walls as they approached Redwall Abbey. _Maybe th' bird will finally stop talkin'. Or at least leave us be._ The great wooden gates opened for the group and they walked in. Everywhere Vidya looked, there was a blanket of white; kits of all kinds were running around, dressed in various arrays of robes, coats, and scarves. The air smelled of crisp winter and cooking fires wafting their ordours from somewhere around the great red building. It was the largest building, _largest group of beasts_, that Vidya had ever seen.

"Well, now, Miss Vidya, you'll have to leave your carts here at the gatehouse to be searched through. Abbot Cloverleaf has opened our abbey to everybeast, but one can't be too careful. And of course you will be asked to share any provisions you have. When you're ready, I'll take you to talk to the abbot and Skipper about lodging. I'm sure the abbot will want to talk to you about storing your things."

"Thank ya, Miss Vivienne. Tandava, I want you an' th' rest t'stay 'ere with th' carts. I'll be back soon."

"Yes, Ma."

"An' ya let these good beasts 'ave our food. It's not much, but we'll share what we 'ave."

"Of course, Ma. Leave it t'me."

"Lead on, Miss Vivienne."

The bird led Vidya through the front doors of the abbey. At once they were in a large hall with a great tapestry at its focal point. As Vidya looked at it more closely, she could see that the tapestry told the story of the abbey's history. In the corner was a warrior mouse. Vivienne called out many greetings and sent a mousemaid in a green robe to the kitchens for some tea for the fox family. _She must know everybeast 'ere! At least she thought t'send tea out._

"Abbot Cloverleaf is probably in his study right now. It's been a trying time for all of us here and he just loves to have a quiet afternoon among his books." Vivienne began to lead the vixen up a large staircase. The pair traveled down a hallway lined with doors. Vidya glanced into the open ones along the way. Some rooms were obviously dormitories with beds that looked softer than down. Others seemed to be nurseries set up for kits. While outside a large door, Vidya could smell the distinct odours of tinctures and salves; it could only be the infirmary. Vivienne turned a corner and started up a smaller staircase. At the top, Vidya could see an old wooden door. The wren pecked at it and waited.

"Please come in. Unless you have bad news," a voice answered from behind the door.

As Vivienne and Vidya walked into the room, a wise-looking vole looked up from his book. There was a cheerful fire crackling in the fireplace, giving off a glow that defied the harsh winter. Books lined the walls and were set open on tables around the small room.

"Abbot Cloverleaf, this is Vidya. I found her with her family while I was out scouting for food. I thought it best to bring them back right away. The rest of the family is at the gatehouse with their carts."

"Thank you, Vivienne. I like your scarf. Miss Vidya, please join me by the fire, you must be cold." The abbot gestured to a chair next to him by the hearth. "Vivienne, please fetch Skipper and have him join us here. He should be in Cavern Hole."

"Of course, Abbot."

As the wren left, Vidya crossed the room and sat next to the fire. It immediately started to warm the vixen. She hadn't realized that she was that cold. _That's th' benefit of always livin' outside, I guess. Ya never know ya're cold 'til ya're not._

"Well, now, Miss... Vidya was it? What brings you to our abbey? It's not often we get gypsies at our doors." Despite the implied insult, the abbot smiled graciously at his guest.

"Yes, sir. Vidya Shanar. My family was 'avin' an 'ard time this winter an' we 'eard about your generosity. We thought we'd come see your abbey. An' we're not swindlers like some of our brethren. My clan earns its keep. We 'ave some food; I'm 'appy t'share it with all 'ere, but it's not much."

Abbot Cloverleaf hastened to soothe the vixen. "I'm sorry about the implication, Miss Shanar. I didn't mean to offend you. I'm very grateful that you will share your meager supplies with us. A very little can go a long way if it is cooked properly. Our Friar here is the best in all Mossflower Wood. Who is with you and what is it that you do?"

Before Vidya could start talking again, there was a knock on the door and a large otter came in. He pulled the last chair in the room close to the fire and held his paws up to warm them.

"Miss Shanar, this is Scallops, the abbey Skipper. He's my right paw beast."

"'ello, Skipper Scallops. I'm Vidya Shanar. With me are my son Tandava, my daughter Shudra, an' my sister's family. Mandara, 'er 'usband Dirima, an' their daughter Nithya. Each of us earns our keep a different way. Tandava plays fiddle; th' girls play fiddle; Dirima does tricks using slight of paw; Mandara is our 'ouse mother. I read Runes. I can tell ya about yar troubles an' what'll 'appen if ya stay on yar path."

At this, the otter laughed out loud. "Ye mean to say that ye tell fortunes? Oh, that's a good one!"

"Not fortunes, Mr. Scallops." The vixen almost came out of her chair as she snapped at him. "I can 'elp ya t'know where ya are 'eadin', not what 'fate' 'as decreed. We all make our own path. Th' Runes just 'elp point th' way."

"Skip, we musn't laugh at our guests. We could learn a lot from somebeast like Miss Shanar." The abbot returned his gaze to Vidya. "Would you be willing to do a reading for me?"

"Of course, Abbot Cloverleaf. 'owever, I would require silence from th' skipper; th' process involves meditation."

"You'll have our full cooperation, Miss Vidya. Right, Scallops?" The abbot looked pointedly at the still chuckling otter. "Otherwise, you'll have to leave, Skipper."

Scallops struggled to get himself under control, and was able to stop laughing. "I'll be quiet."

"Thank ya." Vidya began to set up her casting space on a small table next to her chair. She cleared the books onto the larger table in the center of the room and removed a small pouch from the belt at her waist. From it, she took a pawkerchief and laid it flat. The abbot and Skipper could hear stones knocking against each other from within the pouch.

"Now, Abbot Cloverleaf, I'll need to know what ya'r askin' the Runes."

"I want to know if we'll have enough food at the abbey to last the winter?"

"Of course. Now, just concentrate on th' words 'enough food'. I will, too. When it feels right, pull three stones out of th' bag, an' cast them on th' cloth."

"That's it, Miss Vidya?"

"That's it, Abbot." Vidya looked at Skipper. He was still grinning, but he had stopped laughing and was beginning to look interested. The abbot closed his eyes and sat very still for a while. Vidya swirled the stones in her pouch, listening to the soft clacking sounds they made. This was always her favorite part; the feel of the stones in the pouch and the noises they made comforted her and almost took her to another plane of existence.

Soon, Abbot Cloverleaf opened his eyes and reached into the bag. He pulled out three stones and dropped them onto the linen in front of him. Vidya turned the cloth so the stones were in the proper order and began to study them. The vole and the otter watched her silently, wondering what these stones could be telling her. Vidya nodded and looked up at the abbot.

"This first Runes tells ya th' issue at 'and, yar past. This one is Fe'u. It means 'wealth', an' in yar situation refers t'th' abundance that this abbey is used to. Th' second tells th' conflict or th' present. It is 'agalaz. It means ' 'ail' or 'stone'. It's tellin' ya that th' wrath of nature is comin' an' might even include those red fellows out there. Th' last Rune tell th' likely future. If ya don't like this future, change yar path an' ya can change to future. This is th' symbol for the birch spirits. It's called Berkana. Yar future lies in th' spring with new beginnin's an' renewal."

Abbot Cloverleaf and Skipper Scallops looked at each other.

"Now, Abbot, could my family stay 'ere for th' winter? We won't get in th' way, an' can even provide some entertainment for th' winter nights."

"Thank you, Vidya. You and your family are welcome to stay here for as long as you need. I've got a room that should fit you all in it. I'm afraid that the quarters will be somewhat cramped, but you should be warm and dry. Skipper, would you please show Vidya to the room next to Dr. Song's study? And make sure you tell Quincy where they're staying."

"Thank you, Abbot. I'll have my sister, Dirima, and th' girls stay in th' room, but I would request that myself and my son be allowed t'set up our camp on th' grounds. I'm more comfortable outside, an' I don't want t'leave our things out there."

The abbot nodded his assent and Vidya followed the skipper out of the study. They went back down the long hallway and out to another wing of the abbey. Scallops opened a door and showed Vidya in. The room had three beds with fluffy pillows and a wardrobe in one corner.

"Thank you, Skipper. My family will enjoy th' comforts th' room offers. We don't sleep in beds very often. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll show them up 'ere."

"Meals are taken in Cavern Hole. It's just through the Great Hall. Abbot Cloverleaf has just had to cancel afternoon tea, but there is plenty to go around for meals. If ye need anything, just let one of the brothers or sisters know."

Vidya took another look around the room. _Th' girls should like th' beds. Th' poor dears do deserve a break from th' frozen ground_. She started down the hallway to find her family. A vole was hurrying towards her. As they passed each other, he bumped into Vidya; she turned and grasped his wrist with her paw.

"Don't even try it, boy! Ya can't take one of my bangles so easily. What's yar name?"

The vole looked at her, eyes wide with surprise. "My name's Kapler, Miss. Didn't mean ta bump inta ya."

"Ya can't play innocent with me, Kapler. Ya tried to steal my bangle. I better not catch you stealin' my things again." Vidya had still not let the vole go.

"I-I didn't... How'd ya know anyways," Kapler asked as he tried to pull away.

"My brother taught me some slight of paw. Now, get."

"Yes ma'am!"

Vidya continued on her way. _I better keep an eye on Kapler; 'e could be trouble_. When she got to the abbey's lawn, Tandava, covered in snow, almost ran into her. A group of kits was chasing him with snowballs in their paws. Tandava turned around and set the young ones on Dirima.

"So 'ow'd it go, Ma?"

"Th' abbot's allowing us t'stay as long as we want. 'e just asks that we share our food. Dirima, Mandara, an' th' girls are goin' to stay in a room in th' abbey. I want ya to stay out 'ere with me an' th' carts. Let's set up camp under those trees."


	13. 10: Jaktens Tid

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 10. Jaktens Tid  
**

_by Solgrim  
_

It was as if the escaped beasts and their cart had vanished.

Solgrim powered himself higher. They had to be somewhere up ahead; the tracks they were following were as real as his own primaries, but the dazzling field of white before the buzzard, combined with relentless snowfall, confounded his ability to see clearly. _A beast could go blind._ The thought writhed like a worm in his gut and worried him more than it rightly should have. The north wind struck him in the face, and he wheeled, flushed right through with helpless anger.

The buzzard cursed. His travel companions had stopped a fair distance behind. _Spring will come before we catch up with them! Useless landbounds._ With the wind at his back, he soared toward them, coming to rest on a low-hanging bough.

The stoat, Sage, glanced at Solgrim and drummed his paws against his apron in agitation. The buzzard cocked his head, unwilling to expend the extra energy needed to come up with the accompanying question.

"Keep yer voice down," Brooketail the ferret muttered. "There's beasts nearby."

Vexed that he hadn't spotted anything out of the ordinary, Solgrim fluffed up his feathers. _Tch. Lucky find, ferret. If there weren't all this snow around.._. "Sure of it?"

Brooketail nodded, tattered ears twitching like mad. "Aye. Not sure how many, but I heard voices."

"Wonderful," Sage said crossly. "So why are we standing here waiting for them to come to us?"

"Jus' stay on your toes—"

As the ferret's warning rose phantom-like into the air, several beasts emerged from the firs, surrounding them in a ring. All three of the Red Fire soldiers tensed and Solgrim's heartbeat quickened at the bristling of weapons all around.

And then he noticed that the leader of the band, the beast standing tall with a weathered cutlass in paw, was a floppy-eared, puff-tailed rabbit.

Had his group not been as painfully outnumbered, he might have laughed. He glanced toward his companions: Brooketail's whiskers twitched with curiosity. Irritation and something unreadable creased Sage's brow.

"Hello there, chaps," the leader said. Solgrim followed each graceful swipe of the hare's blade as it carved up the air. "I've got a few questions, and I'd jolly well answer them quickly, if I were you. First one's easy enough." His cutlass stopped its dance, pointed at Brooketail. "State your names 'n business, wot?"

"Brooketail, with the Red Fire Army." He gestured to stoat and buzzard in turn, "Sage, Solgrim the Mercenary."

At that, the hare relaxed. "Oh, good show, old bean!" He sheathed his cutlass, and the other creatures took that as a signal to do likewise. "No hard feelings. Can't be too cautious in the woods 'n all. Now, about this Red Fire thingummy. What sort of business are you chaps on? The rest of the bally troupe wouldn't happen to be nearby, would they?"

One of the hare's vermin, a bulky monitor wrapped up in two heavy cloaks, spoke up. "W-would they happen t'be z-z-ztaying in a w-warm plaze?"

His chief shot him a look, and the monitor returned to looking miserable.

Solgrim blinked. The flop-eared creature in front of him had switched from threatening them to acting as if they were all good friends in the time of a single wing-beat. Were all rabbits insane? Perhaps so—he'd never bothered chatting with his food before.

"We _were_ tracking some beasts, but they've probably fled across the Northern Sea by now," Sage snapped.

"Who attacked you?"

Now it was the hare's turn to blink. "S'cuse me?" he asked Solgrim.

"You _were_ attacked, were you not?" The buzzard tilted his head. "Must have been bad."

The buzzard might not have been good at searching out beasts in the snow, but he was always keen for the scent of blood.

The hare whistled a long breath through his buckteeth. "Hm. Right to th'point, eh? Got a keen eye, m'good bird."

Solgrim hunched his shoulders and glowered, but nodded for the hare to continue.

"First off, th'name's Bartolomeo, Captain of the _Bluddseeker_, but do call me just Bart if y'please." He dipped his head before carrying on. "Came ashore just presently and set upon by a great badger. Long story short, this is all that's left of me crew."

The three soldiers exchanged glances. "Badger?" Sage spoke for all of them.

"Oh, come off it!" One of the crewbeasts, a ferret, threw his paws to the air. "How could you not know about that… that giant _thing?_ Are you blind?"

Solgrim's head swam, but he could only think to ask one question. "What was its weapon?"

The ferret snorted. "Huh, a great bloody walking suit of armor like that didn't need weapons."

"How would you know? You was hidin' like a baby field mouse the whole time," a fox was quick to add. The ferret glared double-bladed battleaxes at his detractor, but their captain silenced them before a fight could break out.

"So then, m'lads, let's cut to the bally chase. We'll accompany you on your hunt, help you catch those rotters and give 'em the old one-two-what for, and you put in a good word for us to your boss."

Sage massaged his forehead. "Fine, good. Let's get going before night falls."

-

It was some hours of careful—and excruciatingly slow—tracking later before the sun set to slumber, letting the moon take watch in its stead. Thanks to Brooketail's tracking skills, the vermin (even Sage) were content that at least they were still on the right trail.

A fire crackled in the center of the clearing, and all around it lay various forms of deeply sleeping creatures, soldier and corsair alike.

Except for one.

Solgrim had agreed to first watch, but he felt as if he might burn alive with anxious energy. The buzzard had only heard tales of badgers and never expected one to show up in Mossflower. _A great bloody walking suit of armor,_ that's what that ferret—Avery—had called it.

Could he be another mercenary?

The buzzard chanced a glance at his troupe. Avery shifted under his cloak and muttered something about not ever making skilly 'n duff unless he had chives.

Solgrim shifted on his perch as he pondered the situation. Leaving his duty was unforgiveable, especially on his first real mission. But yet it would only take a quick flight, especially without the burden of having to wait on anybeast. And even if he didn't find the badger, he might be lucky and snatch an early breakfast.

Mind made up, Solgrim launched himself into a pleasant grey sky. He glided just above the tree-tops, keeping an eye out for any of those miserable owls. It wasn't fair that they could see so well in the dark. He'd like to rip their primaries out.

A thin scent of blood rose flirtatiously to meet the buzzard. He coasted down, hovering over a gristly sight. His heart caught in his throat. Three bodies—all vermin. Mangled and tossed aside. Great gouging clawmarks betrayed their attacker as unlike anybeast Solgrim had ever seen and he burned with longing. This badger was a hurricane, shattering everything in his way. And yet, they already shared a connection - he had been left a gift.

Solgrim circled, wings cushioned by a pleasant breeze, assessing. He would only have the very best. Although he preferred woodlanders, it seemed that the longears back at camp was off-limits. _Hm. That rat will do._ Solgrim flew around the hefty rodent a few times more, straining his eyes against the dark before he was satisfied. The buzzard landed, folded his wings and looked around sharply before setting into the delicate flesh.

_Ugh._ Solgrim shook his head, scattering scarlet droplets from his beak. Guilt clung to the pit of his stomach in a troublesome way and made it impossible to enjoy his meal. His surroundings were murky, but he could see his companions ripped to shreds by the armored badger with disturbing clarity.

Sinking his talons into the rat's stomach with a squelch, Solgrim beat his wings but could only hover for a second before being forced to drop his prize. He snorted and lashed at the deadbeast's face, all hunger replaced by a seething fury.

"Need some help?"

Solgrim screeched, forced to take wing. He landed, puffed up and furious, when he saw Brooketail approaching, a little out of breath. "What are you doing?" The mercenary snapped.

"Same to you, lad," the ferret said, a small grin playing on his face. "Couldn't sleep. I saw you flyin' off and got curious. Sorry," he added as Solgrim's scowl deepened.

The buzzard was more irritated that he hadn't spotted Brooketail earlier than he was at having been followed. "I wonder if he's close," Solgrim said, gesturing to the deadbeasts with a wing.

"He has been. Best to keep an eye out." The ferret's nonchalance confounded and annoyed Solgrim, as did his own inability to do anything but watch as Brooketail went to work at chopping up the rat. The buzzard latched on to a more manageable chunk and then blinked at his companion, who hoisted what remained over his shoulder.

"Hm?" Solgrim cocked his head. Vermin didn't eat proper meat.

Brooketail chuckled at Solgrim's bewildered expression. "Hope y'don't mind sharing."

He did. Very much so. But yet, he kept it to himself as they started on their way back to camp. Solgrim was slowed by the extra weight, and had to flap considerably more to stay aloft, but didn't dare show his weariness.

"You got family, Solgrim?"

The buzzard narrowed his eyes—Brooketail never ceased to confuse him. _What an odd thing to ask._ "Of course I do," he grunted.

"I mean," Brooketail went on, "any close to you now." Solgrim gave him a stormy look. "Suppose that's a no, then." He sighed. "Hope we get back soon. My son's vulnerable, Solgrim. I worry about him on his own…"

The buzzard's gaze softened at the worry in the old ferret's face. He suspected that a proper companion would have done his best to cheer him up, but couldn't think of the proper words. "…Try and get some sleep. You won't be fit to travel," he said, realizing just after that he probably shouldn't have said anything at all.

"True enough," Brooketail said. He patted the rat on his shoulder. "And at least we won't be heading out on an empty stomach."

Solgrim could see smoke from the vermin's fire curling and coiling into the sky like a dancing serpent just ahead. The ferret talked a good deal more than strictly necessary, but he supposed he wouldn't mind letting him share his catch this once.

-

Early morning sun caressed the increased numbers of the Red Fire vermin. Avery stretched out in full, nearly touching his own back with splayed claws. "Mmmm…." He sniffed, whiskers twitching. "Something smells heavenly. Count me in for seconds."

He pushed himself up by his elbows, trying to find where the scent of cooking meat was coming from. And then recoiled. "Yeurgh! Wh…what are you doing?"

"Breakfast. Dig in, lad," Brooketail said cheerily.

Solgrim looked up from his own unadulterated meat, beak dripping. The younger ferret's expression was a precious gift.

Roused by the commotion, the other vermin began to stir. Sage blinked. "When did you even find that?"

Brooketail swallowed. "Your badger friend's been on the move."

"Well that's certainly a spot of bad news." Bart, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, leapt to his formidable footpaws. "Th'sooner we leave, the better. Make sure we stay the trackers an' not the other way round, doncha know. Oh and save a spot of the old tuck for me as well, would ye chaps?"

Solgrim and Brooketail exchanged glances. _Landbounds are certainly full of surprises._


	14. 11: A Harmless Necessary Cat

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 11. A Harmless Necessary Cat  
**

_by Benedict Salterelli  
_

"Wear your boots if you wander today."  
- Shirley Jackson, _We Have Always Lived in the Castle_

-

Benedict leaned out a window and watched the Abbey-children play. A little haremaid leapt heavenward, but her feet on the fall punched through the snow's icy crust. She disappeared, but her rust-colored cap lay some pawsteps away. The other children screamed and scattered as they played at tag. Their fat mother wren skittered on her twiggy feet and grabbed the cap. She flew, dangling the hat from her claw like a succulent cherry, darting here and there in dappled orchardlight.

He looked for kittens and wondered if Clare had birthed hers, if they were fat and white and shaggy, with vacuous gooseberry-colored eyes; if they were lean and lilac; if they were pink and wet and still in a snowbank.

He turned, trailed a paw over the wall. Cold suffused the sandstone's every pore. Arched portals lined the hall. There should have been cells where the lay-brethren came at the end of the day to rest, to contemplate stuccoed plaster. There should have been quiet, jeweled windows and ceilings vaulting into an immensity of sky. He thought of a cloistered city on a sultry sea. He thought of Clare lolling in the sun.

Two hares sat at the infirmary window, stitching. The air smelled of dry sheets and spirits.

"Electuary, love?"

"Any preparation made of honey or a syrup."

"And theriac-"

"Good for any and for all!" The younger one made a face. "Hullo, what's brought you here?"

"Poppy syrup, please, _conversa_." Benedict bowed his head.

"Poppy syrup won't help mange."

"It is not mange, _conversa_."

"But are you like that all over? Don't mind my asking, I was born scientific."

"Jolara! Don't be rude. Get." The older hare flapped her arms at Jolara, sighed, and began to sort her stitchery. "Poppy syrup?"

"Please."

"What ails you?" The older Sister threw open a cupboard. The boards were mostly bare; the few jars and vials glimmered.

"Headaches." Scudding blotches in his vision, visitation by lights, a pain in his skull that branched into his eye and pressed so hard he thought it might pop and spill its humor.

"Poppy for headache?"

"Even the tea will do." He imagined grinding the seeds to paste and licking the grit from his paws. "For falling sickness too."

"I see," she said. "I can't help you, sir."

"It is a grave matter, _conversa_."

"Very grave," she said, "that's clear. How long have you craved it, then?"

He flattened his ears.

"Go." She pointed at the door. "That's my warning."

"_Puttana_." He slunk away and back to the study.

The Doctor paged idly through a book at his workbench. Kapler sat beside him, twiddling a dip-pen in his paws. Benedict met his gaze and held it. They stared at each other like battling figures in a frieze. Kapler dropped his pen and bent, grunting, to retrieve it.

"I wish to apologize for my discourtesy," Benedict said. "Doctor Song."

"Eh?"

"He says," Kapler said, "he says he's sorry."

Russel cast a glance over his shoulder. "Does he, now?"

"I have been- brutish." He shrugged. "Many things occupy my mind. I have forgotten how to act."

"Ah, know exactly what you mean, Benny, exactly what you mean," the hedgehog said. "I know a thing or two about having a full noggin. Full enough as to be uncomfortable. One of a kind, we are- two of a kind, two of a kind. So, I suppose we can forgive you." He held out a paw. Benedict went to take it, but Russel withdrew. "Provided you don't go through my things again."

He patted the bench and Kapler harrumphed. Benedict sat and pulled a sheaf of paper towards himself. "These are...?"

"Ah. So glad you asked. They're plans," the hedgehog said, "of an ideal abbey. A corridor with arches- a log- a loggia, and this is the wonderful, brilliant thing, the space between the columns is a square. Each length is thrice the length of the Sword, and the length is the width is the height of the corridor so they're all perfect cubes."

He tapped the plans with his claw. "May I look?"

"Of course, of course."

Russel had imagined a sprawling complex: mill, mortar, kiln, blacksmith, goldsmith, fuller, three breweries and bakeries. The drawing bore some resemblance to what Benedict had seen. There was the same cross-hilt, storied edifice, but it was expanded, dreamt-on. Benedict paged through the plans. Nothing of use. If he brought these to Cromley, they would make no difference. Likely he would be killed and left to bleed out in a snowbank, a jester, a cuckold, a fool.

He should have refused Cromley and died in a ditch rather than bear the indignity of this jest. He should have rejected the faithless wretch and renounced the writhing, fat worms in Clare's belly. He clenched his paws. Now, even now, she would purr for Cromley- she would mince and cradle her stomach and make eyes. He could do nothing to gain her. He would say nothing to lose her. She was queen and whore of every tom. She was his.

He stood abruptly and bowed to his host. "I regret I must go. I shall return. Doctor."

Benedict swept down the stairs, counted each paw padding on the stone. He felt as though he could bound a canal in a leap. He passed a vixen with kohl-blacked eyes, a hoary tatter-rag harridan who near stepped on his tail. He tapped her aside.

"Filth," he said.

"Be careful, cat," she said.

"Filth! A hundred times over." He stotted away.

There were guards at the gates. He twitched and whipped his tail and worried his sleeve. There was no way out. He could try- he came to the south gate, scuffled in the shade of the trees, paced, kicked up the snow. An otter stood guard. He laughed rich as rotting plums. "Hellgates, you look as if you've got an itch t'rival _anything_. Worms, mate?"

"I need out."

"Not a chance."

"Please. Please, I have forgotten something. It is vital."

"I said no. Don't hang around. Skip'll have your whiskers."

Benedict imagined a knife spilling salt-and-fish viscera, imagined the dash for the woods and the arrow in his back, and turned on the otter. How, how to leave? He circled the abbey. He was trapped in a maze with a single circuit, an idiot trek, a loop he would make again and again.

A shadow flitted overhead. The wren winged lazily above him, her scarf fluttering like a flag.

"You look awful silly, like a fish in the pond that hasn't learned there are no streams, there's only the pond. You just keep going 'round and 'round!" She scuttled over the snow.

"Leave me be."

"D'you need something?" She cocked her head to the side.

"No."

"I mean, d'you need a favor?"

He drew into the shadow at the base of the wall. "Yes. My wife is outside."

"Terrible, to be separated like that. Gorgeous sash, by the by." The wren's gaze was pointed as her beak.

He unwound it from his waist. "With kits. She is with kits."

The wren flipped it into the air with her beak, like it was a shining worm. She let it flutter down and land in the snow, then picked at it. "You're no poor little chit, not you, look at your doublet..."

Benedict blinked a silent response.

"Look, I'd love to help a fine fellow like yourself - and with a litter of kits waiting for you to go and rescue them! But... I've a brood, too, and it's sometimes hard to find trustworthy eyes to watch over them. Now, if there's more of this to be had, then it would do my fledglings a fair sight -"

"There is more." The cat cut her off, quickly adding, "With my wife." Benedict bent to retrieve the sash. He draped it on the bird's neck. "It is done. I will walk 'round again."

He danced over feathery snow. He would rake Clare's back with loving claws and she would never go.


	15. 12: These Places of Decision

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 12. These Places of Decision and Farewell  
**

_by Vivienne  
_

"All right, all right. I'll talk to you later, Scupp."

Viv hopped off the parapet's edge, eyes darting about as they searched for movement within the frosted landscape.

"Miss Viv!" A not-snowbank called out to her as she neared the ground. Jinck slinked forward, shading his eyes at the light powder coming down from above. "I let the cat out... like you asked."

"Good, good. Now, get back inside. I'll be out again for a little bit."

"_Again_?" The weasel's voice pitched piccolo-high.

"Yes, again. That hairless poof'll keep us warm through the rest of the winter." She gave the kit a little jab in the stomach. "Now quit yer bellyaching and get back to watching the rest of 'em."

Jinck kicked a clod of snow and shrugged, but turned to do as she asked.

"Oh, little Sneeze-ell." He turned at the wren's voice, just in time for the cat's sash to flop over his face. "Keep yourself warm, eh?"

Vivienne waggled the end of her scarf with a wing, then turned and took off again, veering left, toward the main Abbey building. A thought had occurred to her, pulling her off her original course like a summer thermal.

She landed at an upstairs window and rapped at the glass, sending blanched avalanches down the red mountain of stone.

A paw opened the glass, followed by a spike-decked snout. "Miss Viv! So good to see you. Wasn't expecting you at all, though who would expect anybeast to meet them outside of their window, eh? Keepin' those liddle beasties in line? You know, last time they stole my...what was it...something important, I'm sure."

"A trifle, good Doctor. It was a mere knick knack for containing a spot of warmth and I had them deliver it back - as I told you last week. It's under that spare mattress in the corner. The one with the five volumes and tea set on it."

"So it is! Forget where I am in here sometimes..."

"Well, I'm not just here to molt, Doctor. I'll be outside the Abbey for a spell and was wondering if you had anything you needed from out in the wood."

Beady black eyes regarded the white-cloaked bird. "Erm...nothing I can really think of. Why?"

"Oh, that's right... you're not a real doctor."

A small, uncomfortable cough filled the space between them.

"Oh! I didn't mean... I just mean I know I wouldn't be getting herbs or anything since you're not..."

When her voice trailed off, silence reigned.

"Right. So. I'll just be getting on, then, Doctor Song." The indoor sill bumped into the back of her legs. "Could you - get the window behind me? You know, with wings and all... and sorry about the kids. I'll keep a better eye... and a word with Jinck..."

"M-hm. Yes, yes."

She hopped up on the sill. "Right. So. Cheerio, then."

As she leapt back into the snow, she reflected on how much warmer that study had been, even after her comment.

_Mites and Eggrot!_ The bird mentally chided herself. _That cat'll be halfway to their camp by now!_ Vivienne fluttered over the walltop and after Benedict.

The winter storm offered little resistance to the wren. She darted between the trees of Mossflower, dancing with the windshears. Below her, a drunken brown worm worked its way from wallgate, roiling along a run in the underbrush.

_There you are, kitty._

Vivienne dipped lower and began following Benedict's trail, her own eyes darting about for a silent shadow among its less-furred peers.

She heard Benedict before she saw him, just on the other side of an oak tree.

"_Neve stupida e terribile. Abbazia stupida. Topi stupidi. Uccella stupida._" The stream of guttural chunnering marched through the snow with more resolution than the cat himself. He tripped over a frozen bramble, catching his paw and dribbling sumac droplets on the pure canvas about him. The stream of words devolved into angry hisses as the cat belabored the snow about him.

_Sounds like he's beating heavy cream with his tongue... with somebeast else attached to it._

Vivinne alighted on a branch in front of the tom and split her beak into a grin. "Hello again, sour pusscat."

The muttering halted and Benedict regarded her with a set of slitted amber eyes. A paw clutched the digit, holding a kerchief to the wound. He tucked the injured limb behind him and looked up at Vivienne, trying to keep his voice level. "_Madame._"

"I couldn't help but wondering... an educated beast like yourself isn't likely to simply _forget_ his wife," the wren commented.

The unspoken implications drifted on the air with the flurries. Benedict was silent.

"And though no one with their feathers on straight would mistake you for a Red Fire Army beast, they have been preying about..."

Amber widened slightly, showing verdigris'd edges - tarnish on the cat's visage.

"So, if your wife was _lost_, either she was lost to a certain set of beasts, or you've been working for them from the start. Needless to say, I find the second much less likely."

Benedict kept his silence for a moment longer before replying. "They do have her. Yes."

The wren waved a wing and continued: "And a beast of such... distinction as yourself surely wouldn't be pleased over being held in _thrall_ by a lot of weasels and rats."

"Go on."

"I merely thought that some... reconnaissance might be in order. You know, I go ahead and see what's what for you. Come back and get you a plan for getting in and getting your lady love out. I assume you don't have anything to offer for her return."

The question hovered above the cat, threatening him like a lightly dangled sword.

"No. I don't."

"Fine, then. It's decided. I'll go on ahead and let you know the best course of action. Perhaps... pick a conspicuous landmark for me to find?"

Benedict glanced about him. The weather gave him pfefferneuse fur, and a small drift was disturbed by his ears flicking back. "I shall stay in the shadow of a tree."

"One of these large ones? Make for an easy target?"

"Yes. That elm. Be back in an hour, uccellina, or I go on and your brood get nothing."

Viv bobbed a short bow and took to the air again.

_Last I knew, the Red Flames were camped at that old barn..._

Vivienne worked her way between the trees, ducking the woody now-talons, once inviting now clutching. The barn slunk into view, embarrassed at either its contents or state of disrepair, it was hard to say. Either way, it was far from imposing like the Abbey - coveted by the barn's occupants.

It took only a few moments' work to duck into the rafters of the derelict structure.

_A better ruse was never designed by beast or bird._

The interior of the barn - or at least the most serviceable parts - was a pleasure palace. A pile of glittering prizes, seemingly deep as the River Moss and worth more than all the Abbey's artifacts, lay in one corner of the room. Lush carpets had been lain down - presumably to cater to oft-pampered paws. Chairs of dark, exotic woods were set about in a precise manner: decorations for the conquering warlord.

_It's like he's pre-planned his trophy room. And there!_

Apart from the other vermin sat two cats, both large, but for obviously different reasons. Vivienne huddled down to watch their behavior.

The male was reading, and showed little interest in his apparent captive. She, however, was busy tending to the other cat. Filling his drink, talking to two weasels who were scuttling about her, her demeanor polite, but distant.

_At least she's keeping his paws to himself._

More than once, the female moved Cromley's paws from about her personage. Finally, she seemed to beg off her tasks, wagging a finger at the two weasels and retiring to a handsome chaise.

_I could get a little closer, I think..._

Just then, a large figure passed by her opening, the draft setting her tailfeathers on edge.

_That's Solgrim! What's he doing here?_

Viv wriggled back and peeked around the edge of her crevice.

_I'll be de-beaked before I become buzzard food for some mangy cat's sake. I can get fancy rags another day._

A shout from below froze the wren before she could leave.

The occupant of the largest chair, a weasel, called out. "Ripper? Begin preparations to move out. I imagine it'll take this lot half the night to roust themselves."

_Tonight? The Abbey! My..._

Without another glance, Vivienne burst from the barn, flapping hard, pushing against the dread mounting behind her. Pushing it back with every wingbeat.

end of week one.


	16. 13: In Frozen Woods

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

start of week two.

**Chapter 13. In Frozen Woods  
**

_by Brooktail  
_

Midday approached, as the expedition wound its way through the firs. The skies were clear, the sun's radiance turning snow to wet mush. Brooketail was particularly grateful for it; the trail became clearer in the light. It was only when the sun had reached its zenith that he stopped and chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Sage demanded, treading ungainly up to the front of the group.

"A cat," Brooketail replied, panting from his exertions.

"A cat?"

"We're following a cat. Several other beasts too." He showed Sage the tuft of fur he had discovered.

"I feel sick," Avery complained, trudging beside Brooketail, who wondered why the younger ferret was telling him instead of the doctor. He realised that Avery was blaming him.

"You're not exactly the picture of health, lad," he retorted, suspecting he knew which way this conversation was going.

"It was that disgusting breakfast you all ate! Just the very idea gave me the willies. My father would never..."

"Lad, yer father is not here. I'm beginning to see why!" Brooketail shot Avery a hard look. They fell silent.

Moving onward, the firs suddenly gave way to an open stretch of road. Brooketail looked from side to side, a bewildered expression on his face. The corsairs and soldiers alike watched as his walk meandered across the road, almost as if he had been drinking. He leant hard on his axe for support, his eyes widening as he gasped for breath.

"Uh, let's just… have a short break," he quavered as he was surrounded by every beast. He slowly eased himself into a sitting position at the side of the road, wincing at the cold, wet slush.

"Oh, Hellgates. He's having a heart attack." Brooketail looked up at Avery and scowled. The younger beast's sarcastic tone irked him.

"You could make yerself useful, lad," he growled weakly, "helping Doctor Sage with that corpse, for a start." He pointed at the dead rat he had spotted by the road and chortled weakly as Avery leapt into the air, dooking in alarm.

"Must I?" Sage murmured, looking at the corpse. There was blood mingling with the snow. Brooketail shrugged.

"You're the doctor. It might give us a hint," he suggested. Bartolomeo stood over him, paws on hips.

"Well, he does have a point, don'tcha know? You seem a trifle under the weather, old boy. Not going to kick the bucket on us, eh? Eh?" Brooketail groaned and stared at Bartolomeo.

"Bit hard to walk so long at my age, captain," he replied, glancing to see the doctor examine the deceased vermin. Sage and Avery were keeping a safe distance away. A flutter of wings told him that Solgrim had landed, tired of their slow pace.

"A cat," Sage announced. Brooketail raised his fuzzy eyebrows. The rat had been slashed by cat's claws.

"Told you."

"I rather think you ought to press on regardless, Brooketail, old boy. The trail will go cold if we dawdle about, wot?" Brooketail nodded at the hare and beckoned to Avery.

"If you've nought better to do than idle about, help up an old ferret, lad." He held up his paw. Avery reluctantly grasped it and heaved Brooketail up.

"Halt!" He nearly fell down again, digging his claws into Avery's wrist in surprise. Avery snarled and wriggled out of his grasp. Brooketail flicked his head to see a huge wildcat, standing grandly on a boulder overlooking the road. The sight of the big feline in an enormous overcoat made him gasp.

"My lord Cromley!" he stood up as straight as he could, his breathing growing heavy. The wildcat looked disdainfully down at the beasts.

"Deserters?' Cromley asked icily, Brooketail noticing that uniformed vermin were waiting behind the cat. The wildcat tapped his cane impatiently.

"No, my lord! We're here on Chief Moonshot's orders. Tracking enemy beasts, sir."

"I see. Then explain, exactly, who these... creatures are?"

"Er, warriors seeking to join the Red Fire Army."

"Captain Bartolomeo, of the Bludd…" Bartolomeo began.

"That will do," Cromley interjected, waving the hare off in mid speech. "You, old beast. You are not fit for tracking, obviously. Your breathing alone could be picked up by a deaf mole. How unfortunate. If you wish to be of some use, you can escort a cat named Saltarelli back to our camp, when he passes."

"Aye, my lord," Brooketail replied miserably. Cromley gazed imperiously down at Sage.

"Sergeant, you will carry out your orders and return to camp." Cromley turned and swept from view, with an agility Brooketail did not expect from such a large beast. Cromley's soldiers padded out of view. Brooketail stared numbly at the boulder.

"Probably right. Too old. Could have stayed with Donnall," he huffed, leaning against a tree.

"So… which way from here?" Avery asked. Brooketail shrugged.

"Remember those wheel ruts, lad? They couldn't keep up that forest route. Chances are they've streaked ahead of us on this road. I was tracking the wrong beasts. Too old, y'see…" he sneered up at where Cromley had been, folding his arms.

Solgrim's gaze flicked momentarily to Brooketail, but just as quickly moved on before he could interpret the expression.

"I'll fly ahead. I might spot our prey," Solgrim suggested. He immediately took flight. Sage waved at his band of corsairs and limped ungainly down the road.

"Cheerio, old boy!" Bartolomeo grinned and followed the stoat, Avery trailing behind.

Brooketail sighed, taking off his helmet. He knocked on its crown and felt inside it with one paw. He replaced on his head and stared down the road at the retreating figures of the corsairs. Solgrim soared overhead.

"Nothing to be done," he murmured.

~~~

Brooketail first noticed the limp. The cat rounded the bend, his short hair out of place in mid-winter. He immediately noticed that the feline's walk was irregular and stilted with pain. Saltarelli spotted Brooketail and limped awkwardly towards him, before stopping to examine his hind paws.

"Saltarelli?"

"Benedict. I present myself Benedict Saltarelli. Delighted…?"

"Brooketail. Are you ready?" He bent to examine the cat's hind paws, but Benedict shooed him away.

"Yes, yes, yes! Lead on! To Clare!"

"To Clare! Er, who?" Brooketail tilted his head. He beckoned to the cat and set off, back the way he had come that morning.

"My wife. She languishes in captivity."

"Cromley, I'll warrant?" Brooketail guessed. Benedict hissed at the name.

"_Him_! He claimed my property and sent me to Redwall." Brooketail started in surprise.

"Redwall Abbey?"

"The same." Brooketail hesitated.

"I… er, you wouldn't have seen a few young ferrets there? Three little ones. One has white paws and…"

"No."

"No," Brooketail repeated awkwardly, "it is a large abbey after all. Easy to miss them."

"Who are they?"

"My son's kits."

"You left them."

"I did not!" Brooketail snapped. His expression softened apologetically.

"No?"

"I… I was to spend the winter in Redwall Abbey. They offered food and safety."

"Then why did you leave?"

"I was hunting after some proper meat for my kin with Donnall, my son. We were caught by Moonshot's recruiting party. There was no point resisting, the kits need us alive. Some day we'll return." He paused, concentrating on watching his footing, as the two awkwardly made their way down a thickly forested moor.

"Redwall shall shelter me also," Benedict replied, wincing as he limped across a fallen tree. "And- my children."

"You're so sure?"

"I shall allow for no alternative."

Brooketail gazed at the sun. The forest was growing darker. His head snapped left and right as their journey came to an end. By day, the badger was no more than a distant thought. As the night approached, the badger's trails of corpses were all too vivid in his mind.

"Step lively, Benedict. It grows dark. We're nearly there," He assured his companion. A cold breeze breathed across Brooketail's neck. He spun, eyes wide. Nothing but shadows. The light dipped behind the distant hills.

"You seem ill at ease," Benedict remarked, frowning.

"Eh, do I?" Brooketail mumbled, distracted. The wind moaned through the trees, setting his fur on end.

"Eerie, is it not?" Benedict commented. Brooketail nodded dumbly. He could not help but hesitate a moment, to look back into the endless abyss of firs. Something else was there. His heart was thundering. The trees seemed to glide sinisterly towards him, as he experienced the dizzying effect of vertigo. The shadows were drawing nearer, the wind growing louder. A terrible dread filled his stomach.

A thud.

"Run!" Brooketail wrenched his eyes from the sickening dark. The barn was in sight, a black silhouette against the fading light. He sprinted for the open field.

The badger was here. Watching and following. Coming for him.

"Faster! Faster!"

"Wait!"

"Nearly there!"

Brooketail was heaving and gasping for air, running full pelt up the lone moor. He stopped at the gate, the guards looking bewildered. Benedict trotted up beside him, snarling at the pain in his ankles.

"What? What do we flee ?" Benedict demanded. Brooketail stared across the field.

Nothing.

He exhaled loudly and wiped his brow. He slowly shook his head. The wind died down. There was silence.

"Nought. No trouble. We made it," he said half-heartedly.

"Let us go." Benedict stated flatly. Brooketail took a while to recover, doubled over from exhaustion. The field faded into impenetrable black. Night had fallen.

"Yes, let's go."


	17. 14: O World, Thy Slippery Turns

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 14. O World, Thy Slippery Turns  
**

_by Avery  
_

_"My birthplace hate I, and my love's upon  
This enemy town. — I'll enter: if he slay me,  
He does fair justice; if he give me way,  
I'll do his country service." – Coriolanus_

In a flurry of brown and white, Solgrim landed before the search party and folded his great wings.

"Whoever they are, they've reached the abbey, I'm certain of it," the buzzard said, clacking his beak in frustration.

"Well, I suppose that's it, then." Avery shrugged. "Better head back to the army."

"Excuse me? I am in charge here." Sage sniffed haughtily. After a moment's thought, however, the oddly-colored stoat conceded with a sigh. "The young lad's right. If they've gotten to that abbey, there's no point in us waltzing up to the front doors and asking politely to drag them back out. You're absolutely sure, Solgrim?"

Solgrim favored him with a glare that matched the bitter cold. "Yes."

"Well, no point freezing out here any longer. Let's get back to base." Sage motioned for the rest of them to follow before stumping off through the snow.

Avery fell in step with Bartolomeo. "There's one thing I don't understand."

The hare gave him an exasperated look. "What's that, old bean?"

"If we're in Mossflower, then that means they must be talking about that Redwall Abbey place."

"Finally caught on, eh?" It was almost cute, in a way, when they made a grab for intellectual superiority.

"It's just, I heard a bunch of namby-pamby woodlanders live there, and all they do is eat pies all day with soppy grins on their crumby faces. Why haven't you gone there? It seems the perfect place for a beast of your...upbringing."

The hare gave him a grim smile. "Laddie buck, I could tell you stories of my upbringing that would make your whiskers curl, wot."

Avery's brow furrowed as he watched the hare lollop along. Nothing about him made sense, not even the fact that he never seemed to trip over his freakishly large footpaws.

"What _are_ you, exactly?" the ferret asked.

Bartolomeo simply beamed. "I'm a jolly old corsair."

_"And are there many acting troupes in the south?" Avery asked._

"Of course," his father replied.

The pair of them stood at the foot of the Seawolf_'s gangplank. Avery's mother hung back behind her husband, desperately fighting back her tears._

"Oh Eurig, don't make him go," she whimpered.

"Make?" Eurig said quickly. "Who's making anybeast do anything? I just want our Avery to follow his dreams, just like you."

"N-not like this!" his mother wailed, succumbing to tears at last. "There are p-plenty of acting troupes in Blackgorse. You're...you're just embarrassed to have a son that won't follow in your pawsteps!"

"Lies, Ophira!" Eurig gripped his wife's shoulder, his claws nearly breaking flesh. "Those are lies and you know it. As I have said many times, the actors here are a joke. Do you want your son to be a joke like them? Do you?"

"Please don't do this here," Avery said quietly.

"Oy! Are you coming or aren't you?"

"Ah, Ruthliss." Eurig smiled at the stoat coming down the gangplank and released his sniffling wife. "Take good care of him, won't you? He's still a bit green around the gills. You understand."

Ruthliss looked as though she were getting the raw end of the deal, but she still managed to crack a smile. "Aye, we'll shape him up in no time. And we've been looking for a new cook anyway."

"But," Avery said, "I don't know how to c—"

"Off you go, then, Son," Eurig said, giving him a slight push. "Do write from time to time, won't you?"

The search party returned to their camp cold, wet, and empty-pawed. Avery inspected the half-rotted barn, skepticism stamped on his face. It seemed a very lowly place for a mighty army to take shelter.

A rat marched up to them and addressed Sage. "Well? What do you have to report?"

"We followed the tracks of a cart clear to the abbey gates. We believe the owners of the cart are responsible for the killings, but there will be no touching them now, Ripper."

Ripper shook his head. "Moonshot isn't going to be very pleased."

"Ahh, he can track them himself, then. I'm done running errands," Sage growled. The stoat hobbled off, muttering something about needing a strong drink.

"We also found this lot," Solgrim said, gesturing with a wing to Avery, Bartolomeo, and the sparse remainder of the _Bluddseeker_'s crew.

"Captain Bartolomeo at your service, Sah! This is my crew, and this is—"

"I can introduce myself, thank you," Avery interrupted. "Avery Selwyn."

"Where is the rest of your crew?" Ripper asked. "Certainly that can't be all of them."

"A giant, armored badger ripped most of them to shreds yesterday," Avery said. "We didn't stand a chance."

"A giant badger?" Ripper mused. "I suppose they do just roam the woods looking for unsuspecting corsair crews all the time..."

"We found others," Solgrim added. "Red Fire soldiers, slashed to ribbons by what looked to be massive claws."

"Are you quite sure?" The answer clearly wouldn't convince Ripper any further, but Solgrim's feathers ruffled at having his judgment questioned twice in the space of a few hours.

"We saw it with our own eyes, my good rat," Bartolomeo interjected on Solgrim's behalf.

Ripper shook his head, smirking with disbelief.

"Where is this Moonshot fellow, anyway?" Avery demanded of the rat. "I shall like to speak with him."

"Steady on there, Avery," Bartolomeo said. "I'd rather like to speak with the chap myself."

"Well, you'll just have to wait, then, won't you? If he even wants to speak with the likes of you at all."

"What's that supposed to mean, eh?" The hare's eyes narrowed.

"I just mean you'd be better suited to different tasks around here. Serving drinks, perhaps. Or digging latrines. Those are just a couple of ideas."

"I have had just about enough of you for one day, lad. Care if I share an idea about what you can do right now?"

"This way, ferret," Ripper interrupted.

The rat led the ferret into the barn. For one moment, Avery was relieved to be out of the cold. Then he bit back a cry of disgust as the musk of several hundred unwashed vermin violated his nostrils. The stench was so foul it nearly distracted him from what he needed to do. The ferret steeled himself mentally. Moonshot was about to get the show of his life.

Ripper went behind a large curtain and Avery heard him muttering. He returned a few moments later and nodded to Avery. The ferret stepped forward, but the rat caught his arm.

"Listen, I don't know what you've heard about Moonshot," he hissed in Avery's ear, "but he's crazy for shiny things. You'd best tuck this little beauty away, eh? Unless you don't want it anymore, that is."

He tugged on Avery's bracelet. The Selwyn family crest adorned the golden ring that hung from it. Avery nodded and slipped the bracelet off and into his pocket.

"You might have mentioned this sooner," he huffed.

The ferret took a deep breath and put a paw on the edge of the curtain. A wonderful idea had already half formed in his mind. _Forgive me, Mother..._

Avery brushed aside the curtain and swaggered into Francis's domain, his chin held imperiously high. He halted before the weasel and threw a sharp salute.

"Sir, Avery Selwyn reporting for duty, Sir!"

"Why are you yelling at me?" Moonshot asked with a frown, sitting up in his chair.

_Blast._ He'd lain it on a bit too thick. At least he'd gotten the weasel's attention.

"Sorry, Sir! Old military habits die hard, don't you know," Avery barked. "My father is Brigadier General Eurig Selwyn from Blackgorse, up north."

"Who? Oh, yes! Eurig! I've heard of him. A good warrior."

Avery nodded. "Yes, in the old days. Now he spends much of his time being a damn good torturer. He can make some woodlanders spill all their secrets without even laying a claw on them, but what fun would that be?"

The ferret forced a laugh, and much of his nerves melted away as Francis joined in. This wasn't as hard as he thought it would be.

"My father sent me to find you," Avery invented, "as a sort of peace offering between the two forces. He hopes my fighting skills will be of much use. Perhaps one day your forces could combine, and you would be unstoppable."

The weasel pondered this for a moment, twirling a gold brooch in his paws. "Hmm, well, yes, it is certainly a thought, isn't it? I'm not much for collaborations, but it was dashed nice of the fellow, to be sure."

Moonshot still looked uncertain. Avery was forced to play his final card.

"Well, Sir, if you know my father," the ferret said, reaching into his pocket, "then you should also know that my mother is one Ophira Selwyn."

Moonshot's eyes snapped to Avery's pocket, the gold brooch in his paws forgotten. "The jeweller?"

"Indeed." The ferret drew out a long gold chain, a magnificent diamond pendant dangling from the end.

_"And Avery, darling, one last thing," his mother said, tears streaming freely from her eyes. "Take this, won't you? It's one of the first I ever made, and I was too attached to it to sell it. I hope...I hope it brings you good fortune in your travels."_

Ophira pressed the necklace into Avery's paw, kissed him on the forehead, and turned away, her slight body quivering with emotion.

Moonshot's eyes followed the pendant's every movement as it swayed back and forth.

"So, do we have a deal?" Avery ventured, awaiting the weasel's decision with bated breath.

"Hmm? Deal? Oh, right, right. Yes, report to Major Whortle, Captain Selwyn. I should like...a word with you, my dear. In private."

After an awkward moment, Avery realized the weasel had said the last part to the pendant. He snatched it from Avery's claws and cradled it like a babe.

"And what's your name?" he cooed. "Ah, I see. Very nice. I had a cousin named that..."

"Er...I'll just see myself out then," Avery said.

The ferret backed slowly out of the makeshift room, but Moonshot did not so much as acknowledge his presence.

"Well, that was weird," he said to Ripper.

The rat shrugged. "At least he was in a good mood, since you're in one piece."

Avery grinned, a sudden thought occurring to him. "Say, Ripper, what rank are you?"

"Lieutenant. Why?"

"Oh, well, I do believe that means I outrank you."

"What?" The rat sneered. "What are you talking about?"

"Stand up straight when you talk to me," Avery barked. "And you should've said, 'What are you talking about, _Captain_?'."

"Captain? He made you a captain?" Ripper scoffed. "I don't believe it."

"Indeed he did. Thanks for the tip about shiny things. I couldn't have done it without you, Ripper."

"I still don't believe you."

"Well, why don't you go ask him? Only...he did look like he was in a rather serious conversation with my little present."

Ripper sighed. "All right. Fine. What do you want? ...Captain?" He added, when Avery stayed stubbornly silent.

"Take me to Major Whortle, Ripper, and be quick about it."

It was Ripper's turn to grin. "You got assigned to Whortle, huh? Good luck with that."

Avery frowned and followed the rat out of the barn. "Whortle...Whortle...Why does that sound so familiar?"

It soon became apparent to Avery just why the Major's name had been bouncing around in his head ever since Francis Moonshot had brought it up. Ripper led him outside and around to the back of the barn, where a sizable chunk of the Red Fire Army had gathered for inspection. A couple of beasts—fellow captains, Avery guessed—were barking various colorful insults at the beasts in their respective companies. The ferret allowed himself a smile, his canines poking wolfishly through his lips. Maybe this captain lark wouldn't be that bad.

Ripper brought Avery over to where a ferret stood watching the troops from a short distance, paws akimbo. "Major Whortle, Marm, this here is your new...captain...Avery Selwyn."

The Major whirled, and Avery recognized her at once. That hardened, angular face, those taut lips, and those eyes...Avery had written a poem about them once when they were barely out of kithood. She had cuffed him about the muzzle until his nose bled and a tooth came loose.

Such vibrant spirit! All captured in one enchanting name.

"Skanza?"

Those blazing brown eyes scrutinized every inch of him, so carefully he could almost feel them singing his fur. She held up a paw and waved Ripper away. The rat threw a quick salute and left in a hurry.

"Avery," she said. Her voice was deeper than he remembered, but no less terse. "What are you doing here?"

"It's been a long time, hasn't it? You left Blackgorse years ago, and now look at you! A Major!"

"Cut the small talk. I asked you a question. What are you doing here?"

Avery smiled. Such a focused and determined creature. "I joined up. Moonshot even made me a captain. Assigned me to you. Of all the majors I could have been assigned to. How fortuitous!"

Skanza swore so loudly several of the soldiers looked over in her direction. "'How fortuitous'? Bugger fortune and gouge out her miserable, rotten eyes!" The major grabbed Avery's collar and pulled him in so close he could smell her sherry-laced breath. "If you ever write another song or poem about anything to do with me, I _will_ gut you, you miserable little twit. I have broken my back building up my reputation in the Red Fire Army and you will not ruin it. Understood?"

Avery gulped. "Not even a limerick?"

He yelped as Skanza shoved him to the ground. She leaned over him, her lips curling over her teeth and her ears flattened against her skull.

"_No._"

"Right you are, my de—Major Whortle."

Skanza grabbed Avery's arm and yanked him upright. "Good. Now, why are you really here? You never struck me as the military type, what with all the prancing about spouting flowery nonsense."

Avery shrugged. "Just biding my time. I don't know if you've heard, but there's a psychotic badger roaming the woods, smashing anything in its path. Not exactly the best time to start my own acting troupe, wouldn't you say? I figured it would probably be best to find a safe place to lie low until this all blows over. The middle of an army seemed pretty safe to me, even though the commander is a bit of a nutter."

Skanza smiled. This sort of behavior was unprecedented. "Oh, you just wanted to be safe, did you? Thought you'd just hide out here under our care? That's nice."

Avery smiled back, glad she was in a good mood. "Exactly. I knew you'd understand, Skanza. Now, where's a chap supposed to get a bite to eat around here?"

"Here, I'll show you!" Skanza trilled.

She tackled him. The ferrets tumbled to the ground. Skanza forced Avery's face into the snow, grinding his nose down mercilessly.

"You are _mine_, Captain Selwyn," she growled over Avery's muffled howls. "I _own_ you, and you will follow my orders. I don't care if you're only interested in playing soldier. Do you think this is a game? This is not a game! We are marching on Redwall Abbey soon, and you will fight and spill your blood for the Red Fire Army if I tell you to. Do you understand? Answer me, soldier!"

She dragged him up by the scruff of his neck, leaving a patch of pink snow where his bloody nose had been. Avery nodded, snorting snow and blood everywhere. "Yes, yes, Major! U-understood!" he spluttered.

"Good! Now go clean yourself up. You look bloody disgusting."

She stalked off and began roaring orders at the soldiers, many of whom had stopped to watch and snigger at Avery's fate. Sod them all. Skanza was just a bold, forceful lass, that was all. And she was a Major now, so she had to keep on a tough face in front of them. After all, she did say she had a reputation to maintain.

"There once was a maiden so fair, whose eyes were like—hold on, Skanza! Major! What did you say about us attacking the abbey?"


	18. 15: Pour, Oh Pour the Pirate Sherry

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 15. Pour, Oh Pour the Pirate Sherry!  
**

_by Bartholomeo  
_

Bart leaned against the outer wall of the barn, stamping his feet and blowing into his paws to keep warm. The remains of his crew huddled around a nearby brazier, shivering and muttering to themselves. Bart thought he caught a glance from Yellowfang, but his surly helmsbeast was quick to divert his gaze.

It wasn't long before Avery and Ripper re-appeared, the ferret looking very pleased with himself.

"Cheerio, old bean!" the ferret called mockingly as he passed. "They made me a Captain, so it looks like I'll be ordering you around next time!"

Bart rolled his eyes. "Daft lubber'll get himself killed before the week is out," he muttered to himself. "I suppose it's my turn to greet our esteemed Commander."

Pushing open the door, Bart quietly moved into the room, pleased to be out of the wind for a while. Moonshot was clearly visible across the room, seemingly talking to himself. Bart stepped into the light.

"Cap'n Bartolomeo, of the corsair ship _Bluddseeker_, at your service sah!" the hare gave an elaborate bow, as befitting a beast of Moonshot's status. To Bart's surprise, the weasel didn't even glance up from the glistening pendant in his paw.

"Ah, yes… another new recruit is it?" he murmured distractedly. "Good, good."

"I've brought my strongest and best corsairs to join your forces," Bart tried again.

"Excellent… Go and find yourselves some quarters." The pendant swung slightly, catching the light. "My, you _are_ a pretty one!"

"Come again, sah?"

This time Moonshot appeared totally lost in his plaything. Bart decided that this was as good a signal as any that this audience was over, and backed away from the strange weasel.

"Poor chap's got the old love for the loot, all right!" he muttered to himself as he headed back into the snowy field outside the barn to find his crew. "Any of my lads got that misty eyed over a necklace, I'd keel haul some bally sense into 'em!"

The crew were talking amongst themselves as Bart approached. It was obvious from the fevered gesticulating, but low tones that something important was being discussed. One by one they spotted him approaching, and quickly stopped talking but his acute hearing had been able to pick up on one or two things. Most disturbing had been hearing Yellowfang use the word "knife" in quite such a venomous tone. The hare knew time was running out, but he didn't let on as he approached his band.

"How are we feeling, old sports?" he asked, clapping Skrimjaw on the shoulder.

"It'z freezing out here!" complained Kamargo, the sole reptile on the crew. "Thiz weather will kill uz all!"

"Never you mind that, old boy!" Bart gestured to the lines of tents that had been pitched across the field. "Mr. Moonshot here has very generously given us quarters. There'll be warm food, soft beds and lashings of grog before the sun sets, don't you know!"

Shivering, Skrimjaw pulled his cloak tightly around him. "As long as there's a roof over my head and a fire, I'll take it. Did he give you any details on what we're doing here? This place seems pretty well organised, I doubt his officers will appreciate us hanging around the place."

Bart snorted. "Not as such. The old boy was rather, shall we say, distracted by his latest acquisition. Why don't you take the lads down into the camp and get some quarters sorted out. Tell 'em old Moonshot wants us looked after properly, that should get 'em scurrying, wot!"

Skrimjaw nodded. "All right, I'll see what I can find. Where are you going?"

A plan had begun to form in Bart's mind as they had been talking. "I'm off to find the Surgeon, old chap. Nothing to worry about, just want to make sure that badger didn't do any damage to the old cutlass arm, eh wot?"

It didn't take too long to find the Surgeon's tent. Most of the Red Fire vermin seemed to instinctively want to avoid it, but Bart pushed his way in without a pause. He stopped abruptly however, when he found himself face to face with its owner.

"So _you're_ the Surgeon, eh?" he asked, surprised. "Do they often send you out on wild woodpigeon chases?"

Sage bristled. "No. That was a punishment duty. Did you just come here to annoy me, or do you actually need something?"

The flask in his paw, and the lack of any patients seemed to disprove this statement, but Bart wasn't especially desiring of conversation anyway.

"Sorry to disturb, old boy, but I've been having a bit of trouble nodding off recently. I was wondering if you might have something that would knock a fellow out until morning, so I might be able to get a dashed night's sleep for a change!"

Sage muttered something under his breath and turned to his medicine chest, rummaging through the assorted bottles.

"Try this," he pulled one of the small bottles from the chest and studied the label. The dark liquid inside swirled against the glass as he poured some into a vial. "Apparently if you take a couple of spoonfuls of this you'll sleep through the arrival of Vulpuz himself. Now, if that's all…?"

"Much obliged, old chap, much obliged!" Bart pocketed the vial and pushed open the tent's flap. "Be seeing you, matey!"

"_Don't 'matey' me you overgrown bunny rabbit,_" Sage muttered under his breath as Bart left.

The sun was starting to set by the time Bart found where his crew had been issued their quarters. There were a pair of bivouacs, little more than sheets of canvas held up with sticks, and one larger tent. _Officer's quarters, eh? This is the life!_ Bart mused as he approached the camp.

"Everything ship shape?" he called, waving as he approached.

"Aye, sir," Skrimjaw nodded. "They were a bit hesitant to give us anything, but we told them about ol' Moonshot and they were tripping over themselves to get us supplied."

Bart chuckled. "Can't think why they all seem so afraid of the old boy, he seemed pretty harmless to me."

"One of them mentioned there waz going to be zome zort of party tonight," rasped Kamargo. "They zaid Moonshot and all the officerz would be there."

"Having a pre-battle knees up, eh?" the hare grinned broadly. "Well, we know where all the good grub's going to be tonight then, wot! I say we go and introduce ourselves to our new comrades."

The barn was buzzing with activity as the corsairs, suitably cleaned up for the event, approached. All around, shivering Red Fire soldiers stood guard, bearing torches which lit up the winter's night with flickering orange light. From inside the barn came the hubbub of dozens of conversations, combined with the distinctive clatter of food and drink being served. It was music to Bart's ears as the seven beasts entered.

The room was very different from when he had last been there. Some of the assorted trophies had been cleared away, and in the centre of the room was a large, roaring fire. Surrounding the fire was a long square table, where Moonshot and his officers sat, merrily feasting and drinking. Moonshot seemed particularly taken with an amply proportioned female cat, who was doing her best to keep the conversation between her and the army's leader, despite the best efforts of the beast sitting next to him.

"How long must we stay with these beasts, Chief Moonshot?" she asked, placing a paw along his arm.

"Now, Clare," Moonshot admonished with a smile. "You wouldn't have me leave all my officers to their own devices on a night like this? They are my guests, and you will just have to behave yourself for a few hours more."

Clare sighed. "May I refill your drink, my good lord?"

Moonshot was about to reply when he noticed that the hum of conversations had fallen silent. The gathered officers were staring incredulously at the group of beasts that had just entered. The scruffy band of vermin, not even wearing the colours of the Red Fire Army, were peculiar enough, but they were led by a hare! Moonshot sharply rose to his footpaws.

"Who are you beasts?" he demanded. "What do you mean by this interruption?"

Bart gave his finest bow. "Cap'n Bartolomeo, as of earlier today, an officer in your fine army! Rather surprised you don't remember yourself, old boy."

Moonshot looked puzzled. "Cromley?" he whispered to the beast sat beside him.

"They came in today with Sergeant Josephson's patrol, along with a ferret named Avery Selwyn, who you made a Captain under Major Whortle."

Moonshot thought back to earlier in the day. There was a vague recollection of speaking with a corsair, but surely this woodlander couldn't be him?

"Well, no need for everybeast to sit there staring!" he clapped his paws sharply. "Find these beasts something to drink. _Captain_ Bartolomeo, if you would care to join me?"

Clare patted his shoulder. "Don't be too long!" she said. Moonshot smiled, and stepped aside.

Bart strode across the barn, jovially holding out a paw as he approached Moonshot. The weasel declined to shake it.

"A pleasure to see you again, sah," the hare's enthusiasm was hardly dampened by the snub. "The lads have got quarters and we're raring for the off, sah."

Moonshot was perplexed. This hare certainly sounded like the corsair he remembered, and that enthusiasm to launch an attack on the Abbey seemed genuine enough.

"Well Captain, we shall have to find your band a role in the coming battle." He thought about it momentarily, before an idea came to him. "Yes, of course! I'm a Captain short in the reserves. You and your beasts can join them for the battle. Cromley will show you where to go after the feast."

Bart's heart sank. "But sah," he protested, "the lads were ready for the front lines! Where's the glory in the reserves?" _And more importantly, how are we meant to get at the good loot! By the time we get in there, the place'll be picked clean!_

"The glory you receive is from following orders and receiving the graces of yours truly," said Moonshot, the coolness of his tone downplaying the frivolous nature of his words. "You'll report to Major Bacelar as soon as the festivities here are concluded." With a wave of his paw that clearly signified that the discussion was over, he turned his attention back to Clare.

As the Red Fire's commander drained the remains of his wine, an idea came to Bart. Here was an opportunity to kill too birds with one stone! That pendant that Moonshot had been so enamoured with earlier in the day was hanging from the weasel's pocket. Moonshot was so distracted by his newest plaything that he wasn't protecting his other valuables. Bart crept closer to Moonshot's char, keeping in the shadows. Clare was providing the perfect distraction. Carefully reaching out, Bart took the pendant and began to pull it from the weasel's pocket. Moonshot twitched, as if he had felt something, but at that moment Clare took it upon herself to get further from Cromley's reach by falling into his lap. The distraction was enough, and soon Bart had the pendant hidden safely in his belt pouch. The hare grabbed a goblet from a passing serving girl, and headed back across to his crew.

"Well lads, he's found us something to do. Wants us in the bally reserves!"

There was some discontented muttering from the crew.

"Never you mind though," Bart continued unabated. "I'm going to ask around and see about getting us closer to the action. Don't want to miss all the best pickings, eh wot!"

"There'd better be somethin' decent comin' out of this 'ere venture," growled Yellowfang. "We ain't doin' this for the good of our 'ealth y'know."

"Of course, Mr. Yellowfang. Now, why don't you take a seat and enjoy the party!"

Moonshot certainly knew how to feast his officers. The servants were kept busy bringing more and more food and wine as the assembled officers regaled each other with stories of their exploits, and how quickly they expected to be over the walls of the Abbey the next day. Even the corsairs seemed to be enjoying themselves, banging their goblets on the table, and giving raucous renditions of some of their bloodthirsty sea shanties. Over on one side of the room, Bart spied Brooketail, and a finely dressed cat he didn't recognise. The glowering cat had his eyes fixed on Clare and her performance, and he seemed to be muttering to himself, although Bart couldn't quite make out the exact words.

Suddenly, the atmosphere was shattered by a howl of anguish from Moonshot. "My necklace! It's been stolen!"

There was a shocked gasp from the Red Fire officers. The weasel was seething with rage, his paws shaking as he pointed across the barn to where Bart and the corsairs were sat.

"Bring the woodlander," he hissed, like steam seeping out of a boiling kettle.

Bart noticed Avery for the first time that evening, the ferret tapped the officer next to him on the arm. "How much to bet on him being guilty? Only a woodlander would be stupid enough to steal from Moonshot."

Guards hurried inside, roughly grabbing Bart by the arms and turning out his pockets and the contents of his belt pouch.

"Nothing, m'lord," one of them called over, a note of anxiety in his voice.

Bart spoke up. "If you'll permit sah, I'd like to give you some reassurance. I'll have the lads all turn out their pockets for you, wot!"

Grudgingly, the corsairs each stood up and emptied the contents of their pockets onto the table, all except Yellowfang, who had his head down in his food and was singing softly to himself. Bart grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him upright.

"Can't take the wine, eh, matey? Guards, you'll have to search him."

The guards quickly rummaged through the delirious Yellowfang's pockets. There was a gasp from the assorted officers as one of them pulled out the missing pendant, holding it aloft for all to see.

"It was this one, m'lord!" he called triumphantly.

"Bring it here!" Moonshot barked. The guard hurried around the table and held out the pendant, which Moonshot grabbed and held tightly to his chest.

Yellowfang turned his unfocused eyes to Bart. "'Ere… woss goin' on?" he slurred.

Bart slapped him sharply across the cheek with the back of his paw. "I'll tell you what's going on, laddie-buck! You've been caught stealing from the commander of this fine army!" Yellowfang tried to protest, but he couldn't seem to get the words out. "Guards! Take this scum away and lock him up. I want him swinging from a bally rope before breakfast!"

The guards grabbed hold of the semi conscious Yellowfang and started dragging him away. Too late, the weasel realised what was happening. "'Ere, what're you doin'?" he cried. "Let me go, I didn' do anyfing. I swears it!" His screams of protest gradually faded away into the night.

"Thank you, Captain Bartolomeo," Moonshot's voice broke the stunned silence. "Your loyalty is noted. I shall see about your request to join the attack tomorrow."

"Much obliged, sah," Bart performed a fancy salute. The other officers, sensing the incident was over, began to go back to their conversations with visible expressions of relief.

Bart felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Skrimjaw behind him.

"I've 'ad my eye on Yellowfang since we've been ashore, Cap'n," whispered the First Mate, "and I've not seen 'im go anywhere near old Moonshot."

Bart winked at his old friend. "Managed to get it off him while he was distracted with his new friend," he murmured back. "Then it was just a case of adding a drop or two of this to Mr. Yellowfang's drink." He swirled the remains of the sleeping draught in the vial. "I was going to knock him out and then drag him off to the woods during the night, but this opportunity to get into Mr. Moonshot's good books was too much to pass up. Not that tricky to slip the loot into old Yellowfang's pocket when he's three sheets to the wind, eh wot!"

Skrimjaw chuckled softly. "Remind me never to cross you, you devious old sea dog!"

Bart just grinned, and took a large swig from his goblet.


	19. 16: Here Comes the Sun

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 16. Here Comes the Sun  
**

_by Sage  
_

Sage limped into the medical tent and deposited his hat on the mustelid skull, but instead of making his usual beeline for the drinks cabinet he sat down on his cot. The stoat cocked his head as if listening for something, and after he was sure that there was nobeast approaching he walked over to another cabinet, opened the door, and took out three brightly colored wooden balls. Sage then sat back down on the cot and, slowly and first but faster as he gained confidence, he began to juggle.

As soon as it was apparent to Sage that he could manage the balls skillfully sitting down, he tried to stand up. However, his wooden leg unbalanced him ever so slightly, and the cheerily painted objects crashed to the floor. The stoat cursed, and returned the balls to their cabinet. He did not walk back to his cot, but rested his elbow next to the skull and stared at nothing.

"You know, I've always hoped that I could work it out. Used to be really good at it, you know," he said at length. The skull did not reply, staying locked in the eerie grin of death. Nevertheless, Sage continued, "I could've been happy. I really enjoyed that job. But all it took was a drunk badger and a hill, and now I'm stuck as an army surgeon. And I talk to a skull. Could be worse, I suppose. I could expect it to answer back, like that fellow who used to talk to air. Said it actually did talk to him, but he said the same thing about the seasons.

"Ah, hell. I never even talked to you this much when you were alive. I'm going to be quiet before somebeast hears me and carts me off to Doc."

After he said this the stoat took a much-maligned book entitled _Practical Herbs and Medicines_, by B. Sable, from the countertop and read it by lanternlight until he grew too tired. Then he blew out the lamp and lay in his cot as sleep stole over him.

~

"Hello, Sage."

"Vulpuz dammit," said the stoat, turning around to see a female stoat wearing a red dress standing behind him. "You're in my dreams again? And you're not even trying. I know for a fact that you never wore a dress."

"True." The female looked thoughtful. "But you always did want me to. Not red, of course. Not after that winter."

"Shut up."

"Aw, do you want me to stop talking? Does it bring back memories?" Her voice grew mocking on the last word.

"Go away," muttered Sage. "You're dead. You have been for six seasons. Now will you get the hell out of my head?"

"Please, Sage. I won't do that. Not until you avenge me. Any luck killing my murderer, Sagacious? Are you content to just stand by like some _unimportant_ beast? What's it like, _not caring about other beasts_? Did this start after I _died_, or did you never _love_ me? Of course you didn't. You never gave a damn. You see the _murderer_ every day, yet you do _nothing_! You useless _coward_!"

At the last word Sage awoke in a cold sweat and sat bolt upright in his cot. He stumbled over to the row of cabinets, opened one, and withdrew a bottle. He smashed the neck open on the countertop and drained half of it in one go. It was only afterward that he realized that the broken glass had sliced his lip and he was dripping blood. The stoat sucked on his lip as he limped slowly back to his cot, and after a while he settled back into a mercifully dreamless sleep, only to be awoken two hours late.

~

A rat stood in the middle of the old barn and played a marching song very loudly on a trumpet. The effect was slightly spoiled when he had to stop mid-blow in order to dodge a spear, which was followed by a large amount of cursing. Another day had officially started in the Red Fire Army.

Sagacious Josephson was still adjusting his hat as he stumbled out of his tent. Muttering rebelliously to himself, the stoat limped over to the nearest beast and grabbed him by the ears.

"What," he growled, "is going on? Did Francis decide that we should all start our day three hours early so that we'd have more time to get shiny things for him?"

"How dare you! I happen to be a captain!" said the ferret, who Sage was starting to recognize through the bleariness of sleep deprivation.

"Oh, it's you. A captain? How in Vulpuz's name did you make to captain? You were a bloody recruit yesterday. And you still haven't told me why we have to wake up at this ungodly hour. I need my sleep, dammit."

"Well," said Avery primly, "In case a lowly beast like you wasn't informed, a detachment of the army is going to attack Redwall today. A show of strength, if you will. And yours truly is coming along."

"Joy. We get to be commanded by a rookie captain in our first attack against an enemy that we have never fought before and that has according to rumor destroyed countless armies. This has 'success' written all over it. I swear, if my wife was here she'd kick Francis' tail from here to Riftgard."

"That kind of talk is treasonous, you kn- wait, wife? You have a wife?"

"Had."

"Oh. Er...what happened?"

"If you must know, Cromley killed her. Now is there anything that I myself need to do regarding this little attack, or can I go back to my nice warm cot now?"

Avery looked flustered for a moment, but rose to the occasion like one born to command, "Actually, you're coming along too, what with you being the only doctor and all. Direct orders from the chief. Well, his orders were more along the lines of, 'Bring that arrogant Dr. Josephson along and see what you can do to push him in front of an arrow or something. That'll teach him to mock me.' But that's how I interpreted it, anyway."

"Hm. I must have annoyed him more than I thought yesterday. Usually he only tries to get me lashed a few times."

"He tries to get you lashed? What do you mean he 'tries'?"

Sage grinned. "Well, he always routes the lashing down to some subordinate, and most of the time they're bright enough to realize that whipping the beast who might one day be standing over them with a saw. Sometimes they actually apologize. Same reason Francis hasn't killed me outright yet. I'm too important to lose, especially since good doctors are getting harder to find these days. All the private practice ones have too cushy a setup to want to drop everything to join the army, and it's not a good idea to press-gang the beast who would be in charge of your army's welfare."

"Amazing," said the ferret vaguely. "Anyway, go and gather whatever supplies you need. We leave in twenty minutes."

And so when the attack force left the barn, they were followed by a peg-legged stoat who was alternating between cursing life in general and Francis Moonshot in particular and urging his nurse to hurry up with that cart. The cart held a large tarp, a table, Sage's saw, a bucket of tar, a large amount of unlabeled glass bottles that Sage had inherited from the previous doctor and was not exactly sure what they contained, quite a few bottles labeled 'Beer,' and other such tools of the doctor's profession. Sage brought it with him to every battle, but seeing as he couldn't pull it himself due to his missing leg the task always fell to his luckless nurse.

Throughout the march Sage tried to keep his eyes averted from the unfortunate combination of the army's red uniforms and the freshly fallen snow, and as a result trod on the footpaw of the weasel in front of him several times. The beast had complained once, but Sage, who was rather angry for being woken up so early and with the fact that the army had to have uniforms that triggered painful memories for him, had stabbed the weasel in the arm and probably crippled him for life. But it was okay, because he wasn't important.

When the army finally reached Redwall Abbey tendrils of sunlight were just starting to peek over the horizon. Sage and his nurse stopped in the back of the army and began unloading the cart. They placed a brown tarp over the snow first, and then manhandled the table on to it.

Sage rubbed his paws together in an effort to defrost them as his nurse took out a bandolier of oddly shaped knives and placed it to the side of the table. "Would it have killed them to start the battle around noon after it had warmed up a bit, or at least issued us coats? I swear, if this is supposed to be a show of strength then why are we doing it before anybeast could actually see us?"

"Maybe it's for the element of surprise?" suggested the nurse.

"The element of surprise is only useful when you're actually trying to take over the place. If you do it for your show of strength and don't actually capitalize on it it just makes the enemy more alert so that it won't work next time. If you want to really make an impression, build a giant rock-throwing machine or find some extremely tall beast, dress him up in armor and have him stand at the front of the army."

"Funny you should mention that," said the female stoat. "Some of the new arrivals were talking about seeing a giant armor-covered badger before they got here."

"Pf," said Sage. "They were pirates. Probably drank too much grog and saw an oddly shaped tree."

"Well, they said it wiped out their entire crew. That's why there were so few of them. I'd be careful."

The peg-legged stoat uncorked a bottle with a dagger and drank deeply before replying, "Listen, I've got enough things to worry about without any imaginary giant badgers. If that thing really is out there, I'll worry about it when it shows up."

At that moment somebeast fired an arrow, and the first battle between the Red Fire Army and Redwall Abbey began in earnest.


	20. 17: Something Wicked This Way Comes

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 17. Something Wicked This Way Comes  
**

_by Vidya  
_

As dusk fell, the redstone of the abbey began to glow under its covering of snow; the frozen pond reflected soft pinks and purples. Vidya and Tandava had just finished starting their fire for the evening, their tents set up close by. Vidya unpacked her table and got out her runes. She wasn't focusing on anything in particular, but the smooth stones were a comfort to her in her strange surroundings. The vixen swirled the stones in their bag listened to them clattering together.

As the sun disappeared behind the high walls, Vidya relaxed and started to fall into a trance-like state. Presently, she heard the mournful arpeggios of Tandava's fiddle. Vidya watched the sky turn indigo and become dotted with winking stars. Slowly, beasts from the abbey wandered over to the camp to listen to the music and converse.

"Excuse me, ma'am?... Ma'am?" A hedgehog, standing in front of Vidya's table, cleared his throat, bringing her back into the present.

Vidya blinked a few times, focusing on the newcomer. "Yes?"

"Can you tell me what it is you are doing? What is in your bag?"

"These are my Runes. I can tell ya th'future, if ya want me to. Let me get a stool." The vixen went to one of her carts and found the stool she used for her customers. Vidya put the stool on the ground in front of her table; the legs sank into the snow, leaving only a few inches between the seat and the white blanket beneath it.

"Tell the future? What you want to do that for? You'll ruin the best parts! David, did you hear that?" The hedgehog turned to his younger companion, throwing his paws in the air.

"Yes, Dad, I heard," the younger hedgehog answered him. "You'll have to excuse my father. Scientist, doesn't believe in it unless he can prove it."

"Now, David, that's not true," interjected the elder hog before correcting himself. "Not always."

"I'm David Song, and my father is Dr. Russel Song. I don't believe we caught your name."

"I'm Vidya Shanar. My son, Tandava, is th' one playin' th' fiddle." Vidya noticed that the tune had changed from the softer, melancholy tune to an upbeat jig; Tandava was playing to his audience. "Dr. Song, I can't do a readin' for ya if ya don't believe in what I'm doin'. I'm sorry, but th' Runes won't work that way. Ya're welcome t'watch me do a readin' though, if ya want."

"Always eager to absorb some new culture, said the hog, smiling. "Perhaps later though." Dr. Song started to wander off, looking preoccupied. His son hurried to catch up with him.

Vidya finally looked around to see that a growing number of beasts were gathering around the little camp. They stood in small groups, not wanting to approach the foxes, but unable to leave the show. She also noticed Skipper Scallops and the abbot had come down to watch the revelry.

The rest of her family had joined them, and the girls were dancing around the fire with a group of admirers close by. Vidya enjoyed the scene for a little bit, then a beast slinking near the tents caught her eyes. The thief, Kapler was lurking about, and the vixen watched him closely to make sure he wasn't stealing anything from her.

Slowly, a young weasel wearing an embroidered sash approached Vidya at her table. "Whatya doin' here?"

The vixen sighed; until everybeast knew what she was doing, she had to explain it every time. As she told the weasel about the Runes, his ears perked and his eyes widened.

"Can ya tell me if Miss Viv is all right? She's been gone an awful long time."

"Sit down, an' we'll see what th' Runes say."

~~~~~

Vidya woke up to the sound of fluttering wings. Her eyes snapped open and she sprang up and out of her tent. She could barely see in the pre-dawn light.

A flapping, frantic wren greeted her eyes.

"They're coming! The red-armoured beasts are coming here! And it's a whole army!" Vivienne twittered about, looking frantic.

Vidya took a moment to realize what Vivienne was saying. Then, the vixen snapped into action. She started for the walls. "Tandava, go get th' rest of th' family; get everybeast who can fight on top of th'walls. Vivienne, calm down an' tell th' abbot an' Skipper! We're goin' t'need every beast t'fight!"

The vixen raced to the walltops to take stock of the situation. In the distance, she could see the lights from the army's torches; it looked like a sea of fire washing over the plain before the abbey. There were confused shouts issuing from the great building as more of the beasts within started to wake.

Skipper and his otters were the first to reach the ramparts.

"They'll be 'ere soon, Skipper. Think we can 'old them off?"

"Miss Vidya, this ain't th' first time somebeast's tried to take our Abbey. Won't be the last, neither." He looked solemnly at her. "Ye got a weapon?"

"Just my knives. Don't want t'lose them, Skipper. Ya got somethin' I can use?"

"Course. Use this sling. Ye won't need to aim much; there's 'nough beasts out there. Ye'll hit one."

Vidya could see that Tandava and Dirima had also been given slings by some of the otters. They were stationed quite a distance from her; Vidya nodded at them and turned to look at the advancing army. Next to her, an otter fell, an arrow sticking out of his chest. Soon, more beasts fell and the zings of the missiles filled the air.

The battle had begun.

Skipper fitted a stone into his sling and twirled it about his head. He let loose, and Vidya could hear the whelp of a beast from below. The sounds of flying stones joined those of the arrows. Beasts cried out, and screams filled the air.

Vidya fit a stone into her sling and began to twirl it as Skipper had. It was weighted oddly in her paw and she had a hard time letting the stone fly. It clattered at her feet. She put another stone in the sling and tried again. This time, it made it over the wall. After a few more attempts, Vidya was slinging stones at the army. The Skipper had been right - there was no need to aim with that many beasts below her. Vidya fell into a rhythm: place, twirl, let fly. Even the occasional falling beast fit in with her pace.

Hours later, the arrows and stones ceased to fly. Vidya leaned against the wall, panting, and looked at the confused beasts around her. Some were injured, some dying, but no beast knew why the attack had stopped.

Vidya looked down at the army standing before the abbey's gates. From the middle, a weasel was emerging. He was obviously the commander of the army, as he was dressed splendidly in his red armour and a cape. Jewels glittered off of every surface they could be attached to.

"Redwall Abbey," the weasel called out, "I am Chief Francis Moonshot! Surrender the abbey to me, and there will be no more fighting. This is only a part of the Red Fire Army. You are only alive because it would be boring to kill you now. This abbey is mine and you will serve me!"

"Redwall'll never be held by a beast like you! Turn tail an' run!" Skipper turned to the abbey beasts to elicit a war cry.

The abbey beasts yelled their response: "Redwallllllllll!"

"So be it," Moonshot replied. "Expect the wrath of the Red Fire Army!" With that, he turned and led his attackers back into Mossflower Wood.


	21. 18: Stand Back, I'm Going to Try Science

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 18. Stand Back, I'm Going To Try Science!  
**

_by Russel  
_

_Too interesting indeed._

The day had progressed at a speed that would have rent the spokes from the gears of Russel's clock, provided it moved as quickly as he felt things had. That morning, Redwall was a safe haven for anybeast looking to survive the winter. Russel could remember with acute accuracy the very flavor of the air as he'd taken a breath out on the abbey lawns, smiled and said, to nobeast in particular, "You know, I wish today was just like every other day. Or every other day was like to day. The second makes a bit more sense."

As of that evening, Redwall was a stronghold preparing for siege.

"If you'll all be seated, we can begin" came the typical call from the abbot.

In this unique case, "you'll all" meant everybeast invited to the…war council wasn't the right word, they weren't having a war. Spat council didn't sound right, either, not exactly the phrase to roll off of the tongue. Siege council? That would do.

Everybeast inside of the room had been invited to the siege council. The occupants included Russel, David, Kapler, who had been invited as Russel's new assistant, Skipper and a few of his crew, Foremole and a few of his crew, Vivienne, who was offering her services as a scout, and Gladys, resident badgermum. And the fox. Russel couldn't forget about her, not after her demonstration earlier. Vidya, he suddenly remembered hearing her name was. Vidya something-with-an-es-sound.

All at once, all eyes were on Russel. The hog shook himself, spikes rattling softly.

" 'm sorry, what?"

"You said to me earlier that you had an idea you wanted to submit for consideration?" said the abbot.

"Oh, right, yes, right. Sorry about that. Drifted off for a moment. Where's my head got to?"

"Tenth shelf."

Russel playfully cuffed his son on the shoulder before continuing.

"Right, well, seems to me our chief concern is that we have a lot of beasts out there who want to be in here and no direct way to fight them. So…"

With a flourish, Russel unraveled the considerable sheet of parchment he had brought with him. The sparse light of the hall lapped against the paper, illuminating every razor straight line, every precise measurement. He felt quite the genius. Nobeast, not even if they had four arms to work with could have drafted up the same diagram in the amount of time Russel had. Although, four arms was a thought. He'd have to have a look into that. Perhaps with some wooden prosthetics, a bit of string tied to the digits so everything could mimic-

"Doctor, you were saying?"

"Oh. Right. Yes. I give you…well, isn't it obvious what it is?"

Skipper scrutinized it for a few ticks before replying, "A weapon?"

Russel put up his paws as though Skipper might jump into the air and attempt soaring out of the window. That would be an odd sight, come to think of it. Certainly one he'd have to note for his research.

Coming swiftly back down to earth, no pun intended in the slightest, Russel corrected Skipper.

"No no, not a weapon, not exactly a _weapon_…well…yes, yes, actually it _is_ a weapon, but…"

His spikes rattled as he tried to organize his thoughts. Getting them to line up neatly was like herding dibbuns.

"What I mean to say is, we wouldn't _use_ it. Well, not necessarily. Of course we _would_ use it if it came to it, but it'd mainly be a…er…a…"

There it was hovering in the back. The hog grasped the sides of his head as he tried to call it to the front of his mind, tempting it with treats and tea.

"Deterrent, that's the one, deterrent. Mostly. Vermin come up over the crest of the hill,"

"Ditch, Dad."

"Ditch, right. Over the crest of the ditch and what do they see? In an abbey full of peace-loving beasts, what do they see? A roarin' great ballista, a massive wooden spike pointed right at their ranks. One pull of the lever and –"

Everybeast jumped as Russel's paw struck the table. The hog was sure he heard Vivienne utter a shrill tweet of surprise.

"_Wham-oo_! Half the font line, gone." Russel sniffed. "Well, not exactly, not if we don't use it. But, they don't know that. And we'd have a weapon all lined up. Just in case."

The abbot nodded. "Very wise suggestion."

"Look who it came from!" said Russel as his claws wrapped around the sides of his coat. He nearly slapped himself when he realized he yet again forgot to remove it while inside, thus the sleep-inducing heat he was experiencing.

Russel's ears tuned back into the conversation which had scampered off when he wasn't looking. Listening, rather.

"I had thought perhaps myself and the newcomer Vidya could recruit some abbey beasts, perhaps a few of our 'guests' as well, and teach them how to defend themselves," said Gladys.

"My family knows 'ow to fight, but we're not used t'bows or slings," replied Vidya. "Th' abbey needs more fighters, although, if th' rest of th' army is anything like th' group we fought in th' woods, there's not much t'fear."

"That reminds me," said the abbot. "Skipper, about the crew you sent out to scout."

There was a pause in which you could have heard a peg drop.

"Dead, more than likely," the otter chieftain finally responded.

A heavy sigh filtered through Russel's lungs. He had seen some of the otters who were part of the scouting party. They looked so young.

"We're lucky we only lost a few in the siege earlier today, but we sure could use more bodies willing and able to fight."

"Then you have my permission to train more fighters. I believe a few of the squirrel clans who have joined us recently had warriors among them. There should be fighters among our…vermin guests as well."

It was clear how much the abbot hated that word from the way his tongue acted when he got to it, quickly ejecting it from his mouth. It wasn't because he disliked vermin, Russel knew, but because he disliked the term. Russel had to agree. Some words just sounded far nastier than they should, disgracing the thing they were labeling. Turnip, for example. Although, he remembered, he didn't much care of turnip.

"So, we've got a plan to train fighters, my wonderful machine on the way," summarized Russel as he paced about the room. "Do we have a third thing? No? Oh, come on, every good plan needs a third thing. That won't do, not having a third thing."

"What we have should be sufficient, I assure you, doctor," said the abbot. "Although there is the matter of obtaining more supplies."

Everybeast jumped at the loud bang that resonated throughout the room. Russel rubbed his paw as he apologized.

"Sorry, got carried away. What I meant was, I've thought of that as well. Looked into a few of the old records with Brother Quincy earlier and it looks like this abbeys got quite a few secret passageways though it. Like holes in a big piece of cheese. Funny thing about that, actually, about the cheese I mean, not the abbey. I was wondering to myself just the other day, 'where do we get cheese from?' so, I went down to the kitchens and it turns out –"

"If I might be so bold, Dr. Song," Vivienne piped up, causing Russel to come to a stop with a jerk, "I might be able to help with your machine. I am a bird, after all, and what do we know but flying, eh?"

Russel nodded. "Hard to have a projectile if it doesn't, well, project, isn't it? Just like it's hard to have cheese without –"

"And maybe we'm bees abul t'help yur in buildin' yon gurt big weepon'," said Foremole.

"Aye, zurr, we'm moler's d' be gurtly happy t'help you'm."

"Yezzir, we'm moles know 'bout much more'n jus' holes, burr oi!"

Russel's paws quickly found his pockets. "No cheese story then? Anyway, thank you. Oi gurtly preciate th' help."

He could feel his son's eyes roll at the sound of his accent. Russel thought his mole was impeccable. David thought it was like being pecked in the skull.

At any rate, the meeting adjourned soon after. Most everybeast lingered around to convene with one another, making the hall quite loud. So loud, in fact, that it made it very hard for Russel to concentrate. The hog rattled his spikes in frustration as he began to curl himself up; it always helped him think when the background noise was too noisy or the room was too hot to think or there were too many thoughts rattling around in his brain.

"Dad!"

"What?"

"You have a study."

Russel blinked. "Oh. _Oh_! Right. That I do, that I do. Come along, Kap, get that one chart over there. I can only carry so much with these two paws…four arms really _would_ be an interesting venture."

"Coming!" said Kapler.

There was a small glass clatter upon the floor accompanied by the shuffling of a beast rushing to pick something up. Russel wheeled on the balls of his feet.

"What have you got there?"

"Hm?"

"Right there, in your paw, what have you got?"

"It's nothing."

"Is it really? You know, I've always wanted to see what nothing looks like. Give it here."

Before the vole could get a proper grip, Russel plucked the object from his shaking paws. The hog stared down at a small glass tincture filled half-way with a dark liquid. He shook it. A dark _viscous_ liquid. A muttered protest dying in Kapler's throat, he unscrewed the cap and sniffed it. A dark viscous _medicine_.

"Is this yours?"

"I found it," said Kapler much too quickly.

Russel raised in eyebrow. "I'm not accusing you of anything, I was only wondering because I was curious." He held the vial up to the light, watching how it refracted against the glass, against the syrup. "Chances are this belongs to a certain cat we all know and love. Wouldn't be surprised if he's upstairs rooting through my study again trying to find it."

He looked at David. The young hog sighed.

"I'll go check."

As the door clattered shut, a thought clanked against the inside of Russel's skull.

"That reminds me, anybeast seen Benedict? Tall fellow, very quiet, cat-like – well, he _is_ a cat, actually."

"Did 'e 'ave mange maybe?" said Vidya.

"Erm, this doesn't smell like medicine for that, so, no. Why?"

The fox frowned a deep-set frown. "A cat ran into me earlier today. Seemed like 'e was in a rush of t' somewhere.

"Benedict? Oh. Right. Well... I might've seen a cat try to slip out one of the wall gates. Don't know if it was him or not - hard to tell 'em apart, you know, when all you usually see is their teeth." She gave a nervous chuckle and glanced about the room.

"So he's gone for awhile," said Russel. His eyes met the vial. "Kap, fancy some tea back in my study?"

His "tea set" consisted of many glass bottles and tubes. The entire network sprawled across the table like veins inside of a fantastic, complex creature, every bit with a function, every piece useful in some way. Russel's heartbeat slowed just by looking at it. He was admiring the glossy shine off the beaker poised over the oil burner when Kapler's words pulled him away.

"Awful lot of trouble to make one cup of tea, isn't it?"

The hog nodded. "Yes. _But_, that's all we're doing here, making a cup-a-tea. Nothing else. Noting wrong." While he spoke, he un-corked the tincture. "So, if I were to, say, _accidentally_ spill a little bit of this into a spoon because I thought it was flavoring for the tea and that spoon were to _accidentally_ fall into the bottle over there, I'd just have to sit and watch and see what happened, wouldn't I?"

Russel took the tincture in one paw, a spoon in the other, prepared to pour out some liquid into the utensil until –

"Spikes!" He nearly smote himself upside his head before he realized he lacked a free paw for smoting…smiting? He was sure smoting wasn't a real word, but he liked it better anyway.

"What in the name of science was I thinking? There's not nearly enough her to distil without using up the entire thing." The bottle paused poised over the spoon. "Although he _did_ root through my things…"

With a slight groan, Russel dropped the spoon, set the bottle back onto the table. Courtesy had a way of getting in the way of his work, but he supposed he was all the better for it. Never seemed to get in Lua's way, though.

Instead of pouring a large portion of the mixture, the doctor covered one end with a pawkerchief, tilting the bottle until the fabric stained in a muddy circle.

"If you're not going to use all the equipment, then how are you going to figure out what it is?"

"I'm going to use the simplest, oldest equipment I have, Kap. Hasn't let me down. Well, maybe once. Well, maybe once and a half, but it was easy enough to patch things up with the cook once I let on what I was trying to do. Although I still catch him giving me odd looks now and then."

After a poke from the vole, the doctor came down from his reverie to crawl back into his work. Russel sniffed the brown dot. He retrieved a loupe and stared at the stain. It glared back at him, an earthen pupil in a cloth eye.

"I should know this one."

He could feel the sigh course through him, lifting his shoulders up before it crashed down upon his lungs. He thought he knew the answer to this question before. Medicine. A small vial filled with a muddy liquid. Smells that were familiar, or supposed to be familiar, yet any connection they had to his memory had been severed.

Or clogged.

"Kap, you see that shelf over there, the one with the big volumes in blue covering? If you could get all of those and bring them over here for me. Don't worry, I'll help."

Leather hit against wood. Pages rattled, shuffled, folded, slithered off of each other, layered higher and higher before once again becoming entombed in their covers. Even with Kapler to help him after he'd given the vole specific directions on what to look for, searching his volumes on medicine seemed a hopeless task. The hog believed he may have been putting too much of his brain into this, so he sought a distraction. What was more, he wanted to get to know his assistant and room mate.

"So, Kapler, any family?"

The vole began a motion that started as a nod but died as a shrug. "Mother, father. Pretty unremarkable, actually."

"Aye, me as well. Well, not unremarkable, not completely. Everyone's remarkable. Everyone's got their little quirks. Some like to take things apart, some like to put them together."

Some have particularly sticky claws. Kapler had proved he was a good hearted creature. It wouldn't be fair for him to tread on sensitive ground.

Sooner or later, though, they were going to run out of things to talk about. And Russel didn't want his things to suddenly go missing, even if ownership was transferred to a good hearted beast.

"Just that, mum and pa? No sisters, no brothers?"

"Well, a handful. Four or five. Me, always sort of lost in the fold."

"I see. Benedict didn't drop that tincture. Did he?"

"I…haven't a clue what you're talking about."

"Nor do I and that's all the time. 'Course on a good day I've got an inkling. More of a smidgeon, really. Point is, if you ever need someone to talk to."

"We're talking right now, aren't we?"

"Aye, Kap. That we are. That we certainly are."

The thought occurred to Russel to ask the vole to stay after the winter. He showed an interest in his work, he followed directions well and he was a great help on nights such as this when his son was busy with lessons or else helping Brother Quincy with records or else tending to the cellars with his friends. But he'd have to keep a watch on the vole regardless.

The rhythmic beat of the gears inside of Russel's clock aided his concentration greatly, once he tuned into them. He found his thoughts jumping into rank like soldiers to a drum beat, as much as that analogy didn't appeal to him. Moving as part of the machine, the doctor got up from his chair, walked to the other end of the table, picked up the third text from the right, flicked the pages to the correct passages, all in time with the second hand. His brow furrowed as he scanned the page.

_Laudanum_

"Well, what's it mean?" asked Kapler.

"Somebeast is very, very sick."

It sprang to his mind, even after part of him managed to hold it back for so long. There at the forefront of his thoughts was the note in his coat pocket, the note in the journal and, at last, all neat and boxed at the end, the corridor. It wasn't a proper memory. It was murkier around the edges, hard to hear, hard to decrypt. Russel could tell two things then. The memory of the corridor had something to do with his Lua. And it most certainly was not pleasant.

"Doctor?"

"I'm fine, Kap, really."

"…I could try to make you some tea? Never done it before, but I'll try."

Distraught as he felt, the hog managed a smile. "That would be wonderful, Kap. Thank you."


	22. 19: I've Got a Feeling

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 19. I've Got a Feeling  
**

_by Kapler  
_

_I will indulge my sorrows, and give way to all the pangs and fury of despair." _  
~ Joseph Addison

_"But what we call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed hope."_  
~ George Eliot

"Beautiful morning, eh, Kap?"

Kapler wrapped his coat tighter about himself and sniffed. _Huh, beautiful morning to be asleep._ The abbey grounds were still in early-morning shadow, the snow a thick crust that crunched underpaw. Nevertheless, it seemed as if the entire abbey was awake. Woodlanders and vermin alike were engaged in all manner of activity. A cluster of eager-eyed creatures, including Russel's son, gathered around Vidya and her family as the foxes demonstrated how to use various weaponry. It was unsettling how easily the vixen had caught him. Kapler shivered and looked away, not wanting her to look his way.

Everybeast seemed to have a job, preparing for another attack. Even a bunch of younglings scurried about with purpose, snatching scones off breakfast trays and disappearing who knew where. _If I tried that…well, they wouldn't let me._

During the battle, Kapler had even volunteered. But after failing miserably with a sling, he had been shunted to the kitchens where he had been politely but promptly pushed out of the way.

Useless. That's how Kapler felt as he trudged behind Russel. Useless and unnecessary. Not that accomplished feeling of uselessness, when all that needs done is done – more the square peg trying to fit the round hole. And on the other side of that hole, brazen in utility, lay necessity.

Necessity, and something more, something Kapler knew he wanted, knew he needed, and desperately. Definition glowered like a specter, evanescent and elusive, refusing to reveal itself. If only he could squeeze through, adapt, become more than a drip of fur in this bucket of refugees.

Russel trudged up to a dour group of otters and handed a bundle of parchment to Skipper. "Here's the plans, Skipper. I drew them up last night. Very detailed. Should get you along."

"Excellent." Skipper inspected a sheet and nodded. "Where are you off to, then?"

"Kapler and I are off to the ramparts to figure out where to build the supports. Very essential, you know. Without a proper support structure, the ballista won't be any use at all."

Skipper eyed Kapler curiously. Kapler smiled, hopefully convincingly. He tried to think of something to say, but the otter only had him swallowing nervously.

"You shouldn't go up there without someone to guard you, Doctor. We don't know when the next attack will come."

"Don't worry, Skipper. We'll be fine." With a parting wave, Russel trudged on, Kapler hurrying after. "Fine fellow, that Skipper. Why, years ago, when…"

Kapler waited for Russel to finish, but he never did. Doctor Song was an odd fellow. _Says I'm his assistant. Don't know why. Hardly do anything._ As they mounted the steps to the walltops, Kapler shifted the coil of rope over his shoulder so it rested against his satchel. He breathed easier when it was at least partially covered. _Here Kap! Carry this rope for me! Probably just felt sorry for me._

"Here looks like a good spot. Hand me the rope, Kap." Grabbing the rope from the vole, Russel began looping one end carefully around his body. It snagged on his spikes, but the inventor did not seem to notice.

"Uh, what're you doing?"

"Need to figure the ideal spot for the suppots, Kap, lad. I need you to lower me down the wall."

"What, me? By myself?" Kapler wrung his paws together. The hedgehog was not a light creature.

Tying off a knot, Russel beamed a smile at Kapler. It would have melted icicles. "I trust you. Just try not to get distracted by any trinkets. I know how it can be sometimes, but I need you on the rope."

A dark something stirred in Kapler at the reminder that this hedgehog knew something about Kapler that few others did. _Just wants to keep an eye on me._

Russel handed the rope to Kapler and clambered onto the parapet. The hedgehog looked a little ridiculous, spikes sticking out, rope harness secured around his long coat, outlined by the sky behind him, like some alien bird ready to take flight. "Ready?"

Wrapping the line around both paws, Kapler nodded. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Me neither!" Taking a single step backwards, Russel disappeared over the wall.

The sudden weight nearly yanked the rope from Kapler's paws. With a panicked yelp, he slid across the icy walltop until he had one leg propped against the low wall and the other wedged in the corner. He grit his teeth and adjusted his grip on the rope. It tightened around his paws, punishing him for his efforts.

"You okay, Kap?" A spirit speaking on the wind.

"Y-yeah." His shoulders popped as his arms strained to leap away. His body began to warm from the effort.

"Good. Lower me down a bit."

Slowly, paw by paw, Kapler fed out the cord until Russel shouted up a halt. He could faintly hear the hedgehog muttering to himself, discussing ratios and friction and other things Kapler knew nothing about.

_Try not to get distracted by any trinkets._

He knew. Doctor Song knew what Kapler would do. Had done already. Kapler cursed the hole in his pocket that let slip his secret.

_He's going to tell somebeast. The Abbot. He'll tell the Abbot, and out I'll go, back into the snow and cold._

His paws were numb. They were going to let go of the rope on their own if he did not do something. Unwrapping one paw, he shook it vigorously and then repeated with the other paw. The rope slid several inches over the wall.

"Hold steady, Kapler! I don't fancy this drop. It's a long way down."

"Yeah." _Long way down._ He looked around. Nobeast was nearby, the walltop guards giving the eccentric hedgehog and his assistant a wide berth. A thrill of power tickled through Kapler. He was in control. Just one slip, a simple loosening of his grip, and at least some of his troubles would be gone, hurtling towards the unforgiving earth. Almost by itself, the rope began to slide through his paws.

_I trust you._

The words rose unbidden in Kapler's mind, soulful and significant. Doctor Song _trusted_ him.

Kapler shook his head. _What am I…?_ A searing heat seeped into his palms and he jerked his paws away. Realizing his mistake, he reached for the line, but his paws closed on air, grasping at leaden nothingness. The rope was gone, a lethal viper intent on its prey. There was no scream or sound of impact. Absolute silence pervaded as Kapler stared in shock.

"Doctor Song!"

Kapler leapt to the parapet and peered down, down, down. Snow removed all depth, translating the landscape below into a seamless blank. Gone was Doctor Song, as if he had never existed. Not even the rope could be seen, disappeared into a snowdrift.

Uselessness. It poured onto Kapler now, weighing him to the chilled flagstones to become a huddle of vole. He began to shudder.

_Did I mean to let go of the rope?_ It had been foremost in his mind, a tantalizing solution to ensure his secret at least a little longer. But _had_ he meant to do it? To really do it? That moment of hesitation, that clutching for purchase.

_I trust you._

Those words spoken by Russel touched off an old ache Kapler could not ignore. He would never forgive himself if Doctor Song was dead; just one more mark scratched onto his long tally…

_Kapler was pushed forward through the crowd. He stumbled, but unfriendly arms held him up._

His father stared through narrowed eyes. "What'd Kapler do this time?"

"Your son stole the mayor's signet ring."

"Stolen. Is that true, Kapler?"

Kapler did not meet his father's gaze. His tail cowered between his legs. "Didn't steal nothin'."

"Let's see his room, Gerard! Then we'll see what nothings the thief stole."

With a snarl, Gerard snatched Kapler's wrist and yanked him through the house, the crowd following after. "This had better not be a waste of my time." His words were a whispered growl in Kapler's ear. Leading the mob into a tiny bedroom, the two voles stood out of the way while it was ransacked.

In a matter of minutes, the floorboards were torn up and all manner of goods were revealed.

Gerard's eyes were hard as he watched his son's room empty. Kapler simply cowered, wishing he could just disappear.

"What's to be done about this, Gerard?"

Gerard hardly acknowledged the speaker. "Get out."

"Your son is a menace to our vill..."

"Out! Let me have a word with him!"

The other occupants scurried out, leaving behind unclaimed trinkets and father and son.

Silence for a long, long moment, and then…

"My son, the thief." Gerard crossed his arms and glowered, voice low and dangerous. "I thought I beat that out of you years ago."

Kapler cringed and bit back tears. At seventeen, he was only shorter than his father by an ear, but when they stood toe-to-toe, the older vole towered over him with overwhelming presence. "I-I thought…it wasn't my fault…I mean, I mean that's…"

Thud.__

Kapler staggered backwards, cheek aching from the blow. His heel caught on a loose floorboard and he toppled to the cluttered floor.

An iron paw gripped his scruff and hauled him to his footpaws. Kapler found himself staring into his father's unrelenting gaze. His legs refused to support him.

"Get out."

The tears flowed now. "Father, I…"

"You're no son of mine."

Kapler's heart refused to beat. A worm crawled through his gut. "Bu…"

"You're nothing but a disappointment."

Kapler clutched his head between his paws. Spoken so many years ago, his father's words still rang miserably fresh in his mind. _He was right. Just mess up everything._

"Hello?" A whisper wafted past on a cold breeze.

His ears quirked and Kapler lifted his head. _Did I…was that real?_

It came again, louder.

Kapler was sure this time. Hope catapulting him back onto the parapet, he searched, frantic energy making his tail twitch. "Doctor Song?"

"Kapler, is that you?" Russel's voice sounded weak and muffled, like he was talking through cotton.

Kapler leaned out over the wall, trying to catch sight of the hedgehog. "Are you okay?"

"Well, I don't seem to be dead, which is good. Would put a bit of a damper on things." From the snowbank blown up against the outer wall, a snow-covered head appeared. "Don't fancy trying it just yet."

Tension sloughed off Kapler and he laughed with relief. Whatever else, Doctor Song still had his odd sense of humor. "Wait there! I'll get help." Without waiting for a response, Kapler hopped down to the ramparts. He snatched up his bulging haversack and raced away to find the nearest sentry, leaving Russel in the snow, outside and alone.


	23. 20: Unbound the Wild Ride

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 20. Unbound the Wild Ride  
**

_by Solgrim  
_

The sunset sky mirrored russet on the surrounding woodlands, darkening Solgrim's plumage to a handsome burgundy as he landed amongst the Red Fire soldiers. His presence caused a few turned heads from nearby vermin, some of whom edged away from the buzzard upon noticing the scraps of velvety fur clutched in his talons. He stared back, intermittently picking at whatever bits of meat were left.

Solgrim was given his space.

He glared up at the ramparts of the redstone house, his gaze hollow. He could just make out several fuzzy shapes. They had left more alive than he would have hoped, but it had been a satisfying hunt.

_Screams, bellows, and war cries from all around burned in agonizing spurts of giddiness through Solgrim's body as he shot upward, a deadly match for any paw-made arrow. Higher and higher he climbed until he hung above the crude ramparts and their makers, woodlander and vermin alike. Blood shimmering with war-heat, he let out an insolent "Peea-ay!"_

"Go to hellgates, featherbag!" the big riverdog roared, taking aim with a sling. Several of the beasts on the wall dithered, but the Skipper wasted no time in switching targets—seasons of having his creatures preyed upon had forged a bitter hatred against the buzzard.

Solgrim flared his wings wide, revealing dappled white chest feathers, and shrilled another battle cry. At the last moment he pealed, avoiding the stone with a practiced grace and launched himself right for the beasts on the battlements. A few of the squirrel archers kept their nerve, but the less experienced woodlanders squealed and threw themselves out of the way.

A mole dropped his sling in his haste to escape aerial death, cowering against the red stone. Solgrim landed beside him, flipped him onto his back, and tore into him, churning soft belly-flesh to a rich maroon. He looked up, amber eyes fixed on the Skipper's face.

The otter's hateful mask provided more sustenance than the tenderest meat.

Solgrim took to the air again, slingstones and arrows clattering uselessly on the stone where he had perched heartbeats earlier. The buzzard refused to attack the riverdog—he knew it made the creature seethe.

Just as he wheeled wide, framed copper by the silver snow-clouds, a lull passed over the warring beasts and Moonshot began to speak…

Woodlanders were not meant for war. Surely they knew they couldn't last against a proper army. Their pointless resistance irritated the mercenary.

"You, buzzard."

Solgrim swiveled his head to face the one-legged stoat clumpity-thumping his way over.

"You look like you've got nothing to do. Fly around and make sure those woodlanders haven't followed us."

The buzzard puffed up, meeting the field medic's jaundiced gauze with his own perpetual glower. "I'm not one of your grunts, stoat. Get one of them to do your busywork. "

The stoat crossed his arms. "So, what _are_ you doing with us anyway?"

"I'm a mercenary."

A wave of the paw. "Yes, yes, but what exactly did you agree to help us accomplish? How long are you staying with us? You _did_ actually talk this over with Moonshot or Cromley or somebeast, didn't you?"

"None of your business," Solgrim snapped. He hadn't quite finished negotiations to his pleasure, but he wasn't about to back down. "All you need to know is that I'm not under your command."

Sage threw his paws in the air. "Fine. Do what you like. It's your hide if we're being followed."

Solgrim watched the stoat stump away, although his feeling of triumph curdled as he saw the sense in Sage's words. _It wouldn't surprise me if they sent that little worm-bag wren to spy on us again._ He recalled the bird fluttering away from the barn as if her tail-feathers were alight. The buzzard had wanted to chase her down, but had been detained by Cromley.

He had barely a blissful second to himself before heavy pawsteps betrayed some other beast approaching. "I say, Solgrim old matey, that was a bally good show on the field of battle, wot?" Bartolomeo's voice was distinctive.

Of all the beasts he had to be forced to speak to, he would have hoped it to be Brooketail, but the buzzard forced himself to stay put. Solgrim dipped his head. "Woodlanders don't know when to quit," he said. "We'll end this quickly when we get to the proper fighting. None of this arrows and slings business."

"Just as I was thinking. We'll have their guts for garters and their tails for tea!" The hare winked, punctuating his threats by stabbing the air with his cutlass.

Solgrim appreciated Bartolomeo's bloodthirstiness, even if it puzzled him. He would be very much interested in watching the hare in the coming battles. Suddenly, Sage's warning split his thoughts like a lightning bolt, and he cocked his head. "Have you seen Cromley around?"

Bartolomeo stowed the blade in its sheath and scratched his head. "Hmm… can't recall seeing the bloke, actually. Had to check up with me crew once the battle was over, make sure they're still shipshape and all, don'tcha know."

The buzzard spoke up before he could stop himself. "How long do you plan to stay here? You can't be okay with being pushed around by all these… these windbags." An image of Sage popped up in his mind, an irritating sneer stamped on his furry face.

The hare paused, glancing to the side before speaking. "Aye, 'tis a bit tryin' at times, mate," he said, his voice low. "Lubbers will be lubbers, but it's best to get in their good graces all the same. It'll turn out all right in the end, wot? A'course I don't intend to keep us here forever and we've got no use for a bloomin' abbey. We'll take our loot, patch up our ship, and if we could get a few more crew members…."

His eyes lit up and Solgrim immediately regretted ever speaking to the chatty rabbit. "I say, you'd make a bloody good corsair. Lots of good air for flyin' at sea and plenty of big fat fishes…"

As luck would have it, Solgrim spotted Cromley prowling about in the corner of his vision, the cat's striped tail lolling like a plump, fuzzy worm. "Ah, there he is." With a hop-skip, the buzzard took to the air and glided over. As much as he admired Bartolomeo's lust for battle, he was not about to be pressed into doing anything by anybeast, stoat, hare, or otherwise.

Folding his wings, he landed in front of the wildcat and drew himself up. Cromley twitched his whiskers officiously, paws akimbo. "Ah, there you are. You—"

"I think it's best if I fly around and make sure none of those woodlanders have followed us," he said. "There's a little bird that allies herself with them and they might send her to spy."

Cromley's eyes slit severely. "You might think yourself clever, but interrupt me again and mercenary or not you'll regret it." He waved a paw. "Go to it, then. And when it gets darker, get over the ramparts and give me a report of the situation."

The wildcat turned on his heel and stalked away without another word, his tail lashing. Solgrim expected that he had beaten the cat to what would have been an order. Pride cushioning his wings and eyes slit with pleasure, he took to the air. _Now to find that little piece of spying garbage… _

~

Solgrim despised birds. Especially when they hid from him.

A steely ache thrust against his ribcage as circled around for the third time. He had spotted nothing, a great big useless nothing. He took to the welcoming arms of a tree, panting, his pinions quivering with anger. He knew it had been a stupid idea all along; just like a land-bound to think they would send somebeast out this early after an attack. It was all defense with those beasts.

Night had fallen proper and the helpful clouds had dispersed like a cowardly flock of doves, leaving Solgrim with nothing much to aid his vision. Frustration lending him strength, he forced himself onward, flying low to the ground until he had reached the boundary of the welcoming shadows of the woodlands and was forced to land. He peered up.

The buzzard was familiar with the redstone house. He stalked a little closer and could make out the sparse guards atop the walls in more detail. In particular, a few squirrels clenched bows and—oddly enough—he could have sworn a fox was among them. He caught a glimpse of its brush tail as it disappeared inside a stairwell. _Tch. Probably just a bigger squirrel._

There was no chance of flying over—the woodlanders would be inclined to shoot him on sight even if he hadn't been working for the Red Fire beasts. He imagined the little south gate might be less guarded, and although the thought of trudging through the snow made him ill, he wasn't keen on becoming a pincushion. Muttering venomously, he began his long journey, hunched over and close to the shadows.

_Rot their eyes!_ Solgrim drew back when he saw the badgermum, Gladys, standing in front the gate, a pike in her paws and little beady eyes focused elsewhere. _I'll have to try again later… miserable… wretched…!_

He was about to turn when suddenly the little gate opened and a hedgehog peered through. The badger faced him and after a moment, Solgrim let out a grateful breath as the two of them retreated inside.

He stepped backward and bumped into something. Something _feathery_. He spun.

"You!" he hissed, drawing up to the wren. A grin split his beak. "Going out to do more spying, were you?"

The smaller bird backed up on little claws. "Just a lovely night for flying—must be the reason you're out here, too, of course," she said, her expression guarded.

"Naturally." Solgrim strutted closer. Vivienne stepped back, her scarf caught in a breeze. "You know, that useless little mole from earlier was hardly filling."

"A dreadful shame, that. I'd love to stay, but I've got to get on my way and—"

The gate creaked open. "Miss Viv, are you talking to yourself again?"

Both birds' heads snapped to the young weasel. Just as the buzzard unfurled his wings in preparation to pounce on the small creature, the wren threw herself at the larger bird, pecking and scrabbling with her claws. Solgrim screeched in a mixture of surprise and pain and stumbled back against the rain of blows. "Get off of me!" He beat his great wings, throwing the wren to the side.

Shouts and pounding pawsteps sounded from within the walls. "Filth!" Solgrim snarled. "Trash!" Flapping ungainly, he fled back to the trees just as the southern gate burst open.

The buzzard didn't make much headway. He collapsed after a short flight, rubbing his face in the snow. He had twisted his head to escape the full brunt of the wren's attack, but his eyes were on fire. He looked around; the woodlands were a hazy mess, blurred by tears and blood and slush. More than anything, Solgrim wished he had a mirror so he could see the damage.

Solgrim thrashed about, tearing at anything and everything that could be torn. "Miserable wretch! Cheating little maggot! I'll… I'll…!"

"What will you do?"

Solgrim's feathers fluffed up. Even through wrecked eyes there was no mistaking the black-and-white striped pelt of a badger. Even if it was covered mostly in armor.

The buzzard was too angry to be frightened. He drew himself up and snapped his beak. "I've got a score to settle. She'll end up much worse than this, you can bet on that, stripedog."

The badger's expression was irritatingly hard to read. "Are you a warrior?"

"I," the buzzard said, fanning his wings, "am a weapon."

"Interesting." The badger's calm rumbling puzzled Solgrim. It didn't sound like the voice of a blood-crazed killer. "The master never told me about you. He couldn't have been working on anybeast else…"

Solgrim tilted his head. "Working?" The badger gestured to the armor covering his body and the bird shook his head. "I don't need that."

"No blade can penetrate this." the badger rapped a paw against his chest-plate. "I can fight for hours, much longer than you, I'd wager."

Solgrim couldn't help the chirp of laughter. "With all that extra weight? You'll be useless at evading even the slowest, clumsiest weapon."

"I am neither slow nor clumsy," the badger growled. "I am saved from the weaknesses of a lesser being like you."

Solgrim snapped his beak. "A lesser being? I've been fighting since I was a child, and I'll keep on fighting after this. I can strike down any beast or bird from the air and they'd never see it coming. I can rip a beast's whiskers from his face before he can blink. I don't need any clumsy paw-made weapons or armor to do my battles for me. Do whatever you like to yourself, but you'll never be half the hunter I am!"

In an instant, the badger's eyes misted over with red. A fearsome howl tore from his throat and he lunged for Solgrim, who hop-skipped backward with a squawk. He took flight, the badger's blunt claws raking through his tail-feathers, and soared into the darkness of the trees.

His eyes burned with unfathomable pain and his path was shaky, but a weak grin played about his wrecked features. He had been the only beast to come out alive after a confrontation with the badger, and he would be the one to slay it.


	24. 21: The Tin Man

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 21. The Tin Man  
**

_Group post  
_

_"Perfect? Bang on my chest if you think I'm perfect. Go on, bang on it."  
"Beautiful. What an echo!"  
"It's empty. The tinsmith forgot to give me a heart."  
"No heart?  
"No heart. All hollow."_

~

_Cold._

Cold and wet.

_A bit like Jinck's nose, from all the way back then._

Miss Viv.

_But it was even colder then. But he was so warm-hearted._

Viv.

_Such a little mite! There... go on and take a little drink. Just enough. Enough to warm up that little obsidian nose of yours._

Mama!

_Wait, he hadn't called me that until..._

"Wake up!"

A second mini-glacier rolled up next to the first and began shaking her, sending earthquakes and avalanches down the wren's light body. Then, heat, hot breath on her face. Stale fish, new teeth, and an unmatched scent of home.

The heat thawed her eyes, teased her back to the world of waking, and brought with it all of the last few minutes.

"Solgrim! Jinck! Did he get -" Her voice was a panicked chirp, running upward scales with every syllable.

"No, no," the weasel murmured, patting her chest down. "You frightened him off before he could."

The wren threw herself forward, smothering the kit below her, shielding him from the winter air. "Oh, Mother's Talons, Jinck. If he'd... or I'd... Oh."

"'ey, down there!" Vidya's voice from above cut off the blubbering bird. "Ya might want t'be gettin' back in-."

Vivienne's head snapped up, her beak pointing out into the underbrush before them. The lookout's bellow had been eclipsed by a sound from the wood. It was a wild cry - an eagle over the moors or a heron over the mangroves - and it was a cry of anger, a passioned yawp that started at the base of your spine and strangled the old part of the mind that cried, run.

And Vivienne knew that whatever made that cry would certainly find its way here. Everything did, eventually.

Her voice slid down a glissando to a hiss, as the bird rolled off of her charge. "Get back in the gate, son. And see if we can't get something heavy to put in front of it."

Viv pushed off the ground, trying to ignore the way the world whorled about her into a dimly-lit casserole. Greens and whites and browns swam before the wren as she fought her own failing balance to gain height. When she was even with the walltop, her vision finally began to clear. Enough to show a concerned face peeking out from a concerning scarf.

"Miss Viv, now that ya're finished with yar nap, could ya 'ead out past th' road for us? Maybe see what caused th' noise?"

"Of course, Miz Vidya. Just a peck and a scratch and I'll let you know."

_I'd rather eat your earrings, fox._

Vivienne banked back to the south, heading toward the sound's source.

Trees passed by.

One stumble... one missed step and I'd have left a dozen little ones. It wasn't until a snap of color that Vivienne felt herself slip back to the present.

In a wide track, all the trees had released their captured snow and ice, as if a secret message had been passed along this route - a hidden game of whispers, imploring them to eschew their neighbors' sensible dress whites.

The track was wider than Solgrim's wingspan.

_Whatever did this is worse than any half-baked weasel that would be king..._ Vivienne shuddered - much like one of these trees undoubtedly did - and turned back to the abbey.

She was whispering fervent prayers to her ancestors that she wouldn't fly over whatever this was.

-

"How are you, doctor?"

"Good, good." The hog nodded, unable to do little else. "I'd imagine I'd be what the hares called spiffin' if there wasn't all this snow in the way. Now, if you gentlebeasts would care to give a hog a paw."

At the count of three, the hog popped free from the drift like a cork out of a beaker, laying flat his two rescuers.

"Sorry, gents, sorry."

He got to his footpaws as soon as he could manage and instantly regretted it. Russel nearly fell upon one of his rescuers again as he leaned against him for support.

"Aw, that was my second-favorite ankle!"

"That assistant of yours really should be more careful. You're lucky you only had to deal with that."

The hog waved away the accusation.

"Nah, just a little injury. Occupational hazard. It was an accident." He stared up at the wall, unsure for how long. "Just an accident. Could have happened to anybody. Come on."

Four hobbled paces to the door and one of the otters turned. Russel did the same, his eyes catching an neat row of black fleas in the distance, slowly advancing

"That's them," said one of the otters, a shiver barely kept out of his voice. "Everyone! Places! They're on their way to attack."

At the other side of the gates, the wide, panicked eyes of his son were waiting for him.

"Dad! I was so scared, they told me you fell off the wall an' –"

Russel gripped his son's shoulders and looked him straight in the face.

"David, just listen to me, just, just listen because this is very important. I want you to get inside, cover the window up with something and then get down to the infirmary to help Miss Twoflower and Mister Vale, got that?"

He nodded. "Where will you be?"

"Right here. I'm sorry, David, so sorry I can't come with you, but we need to finish on those measurements."

"But you'll be right in the way," he heard one of the otter guards say.

"Aye, right at home, wouldn't be anywhere else for the world. Kap!"

"Ouch!"

The hog bit his lip.

"I just shouted in your ear just now, didn't I?"

"What?"

"Sorry, Kap. Get the notepad and the ruler, we're going to the wall tops."

-

"Donnall, did you remember your axe?"

"Yes, father."

"Did I strap your armour on too tight?"

"It's fine, father."

"You ate this morning, right?"

"Dad!" Brooketail examined Donnall carefully. They were stood in their ranks, the Red Fire Army's divisions ready to file out of the great barn doors. Brooketail was not sure how he was going to get into Redwall any more. He wondered if he should have taken his chance at the road. Left Saltarelli the cat to his own devices, and headed back to the Abbey himself. Yet, he could not have left Donnall.

"You there! Stand up straight in front of a captain!" A voice bellowed. Brooketail stood stock still. There was something familiar about that voice.

"Sorry… Captain Avery," he replied, giving the ferret a sly look. He noted Avery's eyes widening as he recognised Brooketail.

"Ahem. Er, listen up, you lot! When I say, "Let us depart the barn", we shall exit in an orderly fashion! Understand?" Brooketail raised an eyebrow at Avery. He saw the young beast puffing out his chest and swaggering theatrically in front of the ranks.

"Sir!" he called. Avery spun to scowl at him. Brooketail was not certain he understood why Avery was acting as an officer, but he was going to destroy his own charade if he continued.

"You're a busy beast, sir. Our Chief has rightly placed many responsibilities upon you. Don't lower yourself to marching us out, sir. The sergeant should do that."

"Oh? Where is my sergeant?"

"You need to promote one, Captain." Brooketail winked at Avery. He could almost hear Avery thinking it over in his head. After all, Brooketail knew not to fall for Avery's masquerade.

"Very well, Sergeant. Carry on!" Brooketail nodded graciously as Avery turned to face the beasts in front. The army was ready to march off, eager to leave the confines of their camp.

"Forward! March!" Brooketail bellowed hoarsely, causing Avery to flinch. The column of beasts under the new captain's command snaked its way out of the barn. Outside it was still cool, dawn had not yet broken over the hills to the East.

Brooketail eased into the familiar step of the march, axe over his shoulder. The Red Fire Army trailed down the snow-laden road to Redwall Abbey. There was rush of wind and a heavy thud. He glanced up to see another familiar face beside him.

"Solgrim. Did you find our quarry?"

"They escaped to Redwall. Brooketail, you are leading this column?"

"Does my captain not look familiar to you?"

"Ah. Avery. You are familiar with leading soldiers?"

"I served," Brooketail stated shortly. He realised he had been rude.

"Sorry. But yes, I served in a horde. I know this march."

"Why tolerate such a lowly station?"

"I am a carpenter, not a soldier. You think I'm here to share Moonshot's ambition?"

"We attack today. What will you do?"

"I have my own interests in the Abbey. And you?"

"I am a weapon. This is my day."

-

Dawn was breaking as the beasts of Redwall Abbey stood to, gazing from their ramparts at the army below them. The column had diverged into rows, displaying their full strength across the moors to the East. The sun rose. The orange light reflected off the shined red armour, the clearing suddenly a blinding field of radiance.

"Father… Dad. I'm scared." Brooketail looked aside. Donnall was shaking. Before them rose the fortress that no beast in Brooketail's memory had ever taken by force. Her walls were lined with beasts, her gate firmly barred.

"Stay with me, lad. I'll keep you safe," Brooketail murmured. His stomach twinged. He was telling a terrible lie. Overhead, he saw Solgrim drift over the Abbey, as if marking his prey. Ahead, he saw Avery quiver before the red stone walls.

"Avery." The ferret turned to Brooketail. Their eyes met. Brooketail touched the brim of his helmet.

"Good luck."

"Help me," Avery mouthed. Brooketail nodded. That made two young ferrets he had to keep an eye on today. Officers led from the front. Brooketail did not envy Avery's position.

"I say! Tally ho! Tantivy! Let's bally well get stuck into the blighters!" Brooketail spun in surprise. A few rows down, he could see a pair of long ears over the rows of rodents and mustelids. Despite himself, he grinned.

"First wave! Attack! Attack!" Brooketail stiffened as Moonshot's voice broke the lull of silence.

"Here we go, lads. Forward!" Brooketail roared. The first wave started to trot, then run full pelt down the hill.

"Red Fire! Red Fire! Kill! Kill! Kill!" the chant rose, louder and louder. The horde broke formation, becoming nothing more than a mass of glinting red.

"Red Fire! Red Fire! Kill! Kill! Kill!" Brooketail did not waste his breath with the furious cries. He knew he would need it soon. As they neared the walls, a prickling sensation washed across his body. Something was wrong.

"Red Fire! Red-"

A colossal bellow cut across the slope to Redwall. Brooketail faltered, giving has son a last, despairing look. The horde beasts slowed. The attack lost its momentum. Even the beasts of Redwall were silent. Brooketail snarled, petrified.

"It's here."

-

A snowdrift to Avery's left exploded as the badger plowed through it. He let out a great roar and lumbered toward the troops. Avery dooked in alarm, did a swift about-face, and began elbowing his way through through the ranks of his subordinates.

"We're doomed we're doomed we're all dead oh 'Gates I don't wanna die!" he babbled.

"Captain? Orders?" Brooketail called from behind him.

"Keep that thing away from me! There! That's your bloody order! And get out of my way, all of you!"

"_Captain! What in Cluny's name do you think you're doing?_"

Avery ran into something solid and staggered back. Skanza Whortle stood in his path, and Avery had never seen her look more furious. She seized him by the lapels and shook him, bellowing into his face, "I don't remember ordering you to retreat, you useless pile of weasel droppings! Get ahold of yourself and get your troops on the offensive immediately!"

"You don't understand! That thing will kill us all, just like Bart—"

"If you don't get some spine by the time I'm finished talking, I will kill you. Never mind the damn badger!"

Avery rather felt he had no spine at all, or it had been turned into jelly. The Major shoved him back toward the badger. Avery couldn't decide which threat would do him more harm, but in the end the choice he had to make was clear.

"Attack," he bleated.

"Attaaaaaack!" Skanza roared.

Avery watched them charge the armored badger; their vulgar war cries rent the air and their weapons bristled like a vast thicket of nettles. The ferret felt sick to his stomach as he watched them go. So many beasts were going to die at his word.

As predicted, as soon as the first wave hit the badger, bodies flew through the air and metal clanged uselessly against the giant's armor. Not fazed in the slightest, the badger seemed almost more annoyed, as if he were swatting away a swarm of midges.

"Where? Where? _Where?_" he roared.

Avery's eyes widened in shock. It could talk? He didn't remember that. How could it talk? It was a mindless killing machine.

Intrigued, the ferret took a few tentative steps closer. He saw Brooketail swing his axe at one of the badger's thick legs; it bounced off the armor and flew from the ferret's paws and into the snow. The badger's next backpaw sent Brooketail flying. Avery dashed forward to help him up; the draft of Solgrim's wings nearly knocked him flat as the buzzard zoomed into the chaos.

"Careful, you old geezer," he said. "Don't want to go breaking a hip. You won't be much use to us then, eh?"

Brooketail looked both annoyed and grateful. "Thanks."

Solgrim let out a screech; Avery saw him narrowly dodge one of the badger's paws. At the juggernaut's next swing he wasn't as lucky, and he tumbled through the air and was forced to make an awkward landing near Avery and Brooketail.

"All right there, Solgrim?" Avery called.

The bird flashed him a dangerous look, battle lust hot in his eyes. "Watch your own hide."

He took off again.

Avery and Brooketail both looked up as the badger let out another great roar and began to thrash about. It didn't take long to see why. Skanza had somehow managed to get up on the badger's back and was stabbing at it with a dagger, desperately seeking any opening to the beast's vulnerable flesh. With each _clang_, Avery knew she had missed. Finally the badger's flailing upset Skanza, and the Major flew through the air. She face-planted into the snow. Avery hurried forward.

"Major! Let me help you..."

He quickly withdrew his paw as Skanza's teeth made a snap at it. "I don't need your help." She crawled upright and winced slightly when she put pressure on her left footpaw. Avery opened his mouth to ask what was the matter, but the battle fire scorching Skanza's eyes silenced him.

"That badger is invincible! I couldn't find any faults in his armor," she snarled.

"Me either," said Brooketail.

"Told you so," Avery said before he could stop himself.

Skanza's blazing eyes narrowed to slits. "What was that, Captain?"

"Er, I said, 'Look at him go!'" He pointed at the badger as he continued to wreak havoc on the troops. "Maybe we should help out?"

"Now you're talking, Captain."

Avery had no choice but to follow the other two ferrets as they rushed back into the meleé. It proved to be an exercise in futility; the badger drove them back relentlessly, and Skanza eventually gave Avery permission to call for a retreat.

-

At the sound of the badger, the Red Fire Army broke ranks and crowded around the main gates of Redwall. There was much shouting and banging, but soon a chant erupted from the soldiers.

"Let us in! Let us in!"

Sage was stranded at the back of the army. He tried to elbow through the ranks and found it impossible to make any headway. The stoat then limped around the perimeter of the crowd, but couldn't see an opening into which he could slip.

_Damn. Even if they do let us in, that badger's going to get here before I'm halfway to the gate. Blasted pegleg,_ he thought.

As fate would have it, the armored abomination crashed through the treeline at that moment and began charging the army, bellowing something about the Professor. The vermin redoubled their shouting, but judging from the body language of those on the ramparts it didn't look like they were going to gain entrance.

Sage's mind raced. Getting into the Abbey was a problem, but it was secondary to the giant badger. If he could just slow it down, he would have time to think of something that would get those gates open. Slow it down…well, it could obviously annihilate any small fighting force, but they might be able to distract it long enough to buy the rest of the army some time.

He touched his saw to the shoulder of the ferret in front of him. "Hey, you. Corporal. And you, you, you two, you three right here, and you. Go and try to keep that badger off our backs."

"What?" said the ferret. "Are you bloody mad? We'll be killed!"

"No, no. Just keep it occupied. We'll back you up." When the beast still looked unsure, Sage added, "Orders from Chief Moonshot himself. Hop to it, you lot."

The squad jogged reluctantly back in the direction of the juggernaut. Sage was about to try to force his way up through the ranks when somebeast tapped him on the shoulder.

"I say, what was it you just did there?" asked Bartolomeo.

"Listen, I had to," said Sage. "If they can keep that thing busy for long enough the rest of us might be able to survive. Understand?"

"Really, old bean? That rat you sent out was one of my crew. And you just ordered him on a suicide mission."

The stoat waved a paw dismissively. "They weren't important. Would you like to see us all killed so you could save a few beasts?"

Before the hare could respond, Sage dug his wooden leg into the paw of a fox that was standing in front of him, causing the beast to jump out of the way. This gave the stoat an opening that he could use to delve deeper into the crowd. He progressed in a similar fashion all the way to the middle of the army, at which point he came upon Brooketail.

"Hey, you with the funny hat. Can you hear what it is they're saying up on the wall?"

The ferret half-turned around and recognized Sage. "Funny hat yerself. They're being block-headed about opening the door, Sage."

"Ah." Sage mopped his brow with his hat. "Can't say I blame them, really. We have been trying to kill them."

"Fickle beasts they are, Sage. They let my grandkits in, but happily doom us."

The stoat stared at the older ferret for a second. "Wait, your grandkits are in there? In Redwall?"

"Aye, I left them there-"

Sage forestalled further conversation by grabbing Brooketail by the shoulder and pulling him as close to the wall as the press of bodies would allow, saying, "Why didn't you mention this sooner? That's useful information right now."

The stoat cupped both paws around his mouth and shouted as loud has he could. "Be quiet! All of you! Right now!"

The beasts around him, recognizing Sage's voice as an Authority Figure, fell silent. The rest of the army noticed that some beasts were doing something that they weren't and, following an instinct that is universal to both schoolchildren and soldiers, likewise became quiet. Soon the only sound that could be heard was the screams of those sent to distract the badger.

"All right! You, up on the walls. Why won't you let us in?" Sage called.

"Because we're at war with you!" came the reply.

"Well, that is true," responded the stoat. "But I think that it would be best to put aside our differences and cooperate against a common foe, such as the huge indestructible death machine over there. Besides..." He grabbed Brooketail's arm and held it up. "This fellow's grandkits are living in your abbey right now. Would you like to be responsible for the death of their grandfather?"

-

"Let them in!"

And, when the otter stood there like a gear with a broken spoke, "Let them in!"

"Are you crazy?"

"Yes, very often. But I'm no murderer. They're dying out there, we have to do something."

"We can't just let them in, they'll slaughter the lot of us."

"And if we do nothing the lot of them'll get slaughtered."

Russel's paw clenched so tight he could feel his pulse. Hitting the otter would do nothing.

"Doctor Song has a point," said Skipper, evidently the only sane one in the melee. "Although we can't let them in as they are."

"If you're going to dilly-dally, I'll make the decision for you."

Quick as he could manage with his sprained footpaw, the hog toddled across the sandstone, down the stairs, each step a heavy clatter of the clock as the sounds of creature after creature falling to the badger outside of the walls suffocated his ears. Footpaw met snow-slurred soil, sloshing along step after step until he could at last put paw to sturdy wood. He could feel the vibrations of the battle just beyond the gate, resonating like a heartbeat.

"Don't try to get that all by yourself, you'll wind up pullin' somethin'," came the unmistakable accent of an otter.

This was joined by another, "Can't believe we're doing this for those lousy vermin! They killed Fritz!"

And another, "Uh, Max, I'm actually alright."

"Oh."

And finally the familiar sound of Kapler, "I've got it, Doctor Song."

"Skip just told them all to drop their weapons if they wanted to come in," explained a squirrel. "It looked like they followed his orders, so he told us to come help."

Old wood ground against fresh snow, opening the gates to a flood of panicked soldiers. Russel struggled to get near the mouth and peer past the stream of beasts rushing into the abbey. Up on the wall, he'd only been able to catch glimpses, but down here on the ground it was perfectly visible. There, at the back of the ranks like sun before fleeting shadows, was the badger, light gleaming off of his armor. Overcome, the hog could only gape at the creature as his eyes bore into rivet after rivet, plate after plate.

"Horrible…beautiful."

The creature turned toward the gate, momentarily distracted from its work. The doctor thought he saw a pair of eyes underneath the metal focusing on him.

"I'm sorry!" he called, his voice lost in the deluge as the abbey warriors shouted to get the gates closed before the tidal wave of a badger attempted to crash through.

"I'm so sorry," he muttered, just before all was lost underneath the cacophony of flesh and metal and rage slamming against old, sturdy wood.

-

When they poured through the gates, Benedict thought how in winter the tides rose and reclaimed his city and every palazzo teemed with filth. He and Clare clasped paws as they stumbled forward. They dug claws into each other. Clare's weasel-maids followed, bobbing like flotsam over-under-through the crowd. They left the cart behind; they left fires burning, tents half-propped, everything abandoned like the ruins of a plague-stricken tribe.

Clare bawled. He yanked her forward. One of the weasel-maids cuffed him, and she hooked her shoulder under Clare's arm. Her partner took the other side. Like a burst canal, like a torrent of water, the gates groaned- and then shut, as cut by the fall of a sluice.

At last came the beat, the battering incessant as a sea.

"Where? Where is he? Where?" This, a wretched howl.

"Sound as a kit, cousen," said one weasel-maid. She clung to her partner. "Most awful kit."

The gates shuddered and sobbed under the beast's weight. Clare dug her claws into Benedict's thigh. "You've got a knife?"

"Be quiet." He struck her.

"Ah," she said. She clasped her muzzle. Shaking, she curled against him; he stroked her behind the ears. Freckle-flecked blood stained her fur. "I hate you."

"T'ink it's still. Sound just as a kit," said one weaselmaid. "T'ink it's bored?"

"T'at's big kit," said the other. She kissed her friend's cheek and then looked to Benedict and Clare huddled together. "Pfah! Wicket beast."

"Help me, Yael," Clare moaned.

"Don't go," said Benedict, but they drew away from him.

He watched the gate. It stood broad and tall as a new grave-stone. For a moment everybeast was silent but for the shuf of paws, the hiss of breath and tail-in-snow. The wails of pain began.

"What should I do?" He touched Clare's shoulder. "What should I do?"

"Gerroff," said Yael, and she swatted him.

He wriggled his tunic out from under his doublet. The gold-on-green silk rippled over his paws. He hooked a claw in the weave and began to tear bandages: once, twice, thrice, a scrap for Clare or himself or some whelp he cared nothing for. She would see, she would see him that same ribbon, the binding of torn flesh. He imagined their paws tied together. He would remind her- as she was his, he was hers. He scurried away.

-

Sage breathed a sigh of relief when the gate was locked back up, ignoring the cries of the wounded and dying. He'd give his other leg before getting anywhere within a mile of that thing again. As the stoat made his way through the crowd around the door, an otter motioned for him to drop his saw in a pile that already contained a large amount of the Red Fire Army's weaponry. Sage waved him off, saying, "I'm a doctor. This is a tool, not a weapon."

That problem cleared up, Sage limped across the lawn where the army was already beginning to set up camp and was about to enter the Abbey proper when he heard a voice behind him.

"Dr. Josephson, we need to talk."

Sage turned around slowly. "Dammit, Francis, what is it this time?"

The weasel lifted his hand as if to strike, but thought otherwise. "You do not speak to me like that, you... you gimp. It is only because I'm a generous soul that you're still alive."

"Great," said Sage. "Now what is it I'm in trouble for? Didn't save you quick enough?"

"Funny! Isn't he funny? Sorry, funny-stoat, I want you to answer what my good friend Bart has told me." The weasel motioned to Bartolomeo, who was standing behind him. "He says a certain doctor ordered my troops to attack that badger, knowing they would die. Do you know what kind of a waste that is?"

"Well, yes, but.."

"Only I get to say when beasts die and when they live. And then! Then you dare have the nerve to say you were acting on my whim? As if you, of all beasts, could possibly comprehend my mind?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's true. But I had to do that."

"You," accused Francis, very nearly driving his claw into the stoat's face. "You have to do nothing except what I tell you! You don't get to tell my soldiers what to do, and you definitely don't get to pretend you're acting on my behalf!"

Sage shrugged. "All right, that's fair. What are you going to do, have me whipped again?"

"Oh, Doctor. How quaint. How very nice. A whipping. That's so very … you're relieved of your duties as a doctor."

"What? You- I'm the only doctor we have! You can't do that! I'm bloody important!"

"You have a nurse, do you not?"

"You mean Jade? Yes, but I don't think she's qualif-"

"She's been your nurse for three seasons now. I assume she's picked up something in that time."

Sage opened his mouth to reply, but Francis held up a finger to stop him. "Private Josephson, it is only in view of your performance at the gate that I'm not having you executed on the spot! Now hand over your sergeant's stripes. You'll be reporting to the new army doctor from now on."

The stoat mutely unclipped the stripes from his beret and passed them to the weasel. Francis then turned on his heel and walked away. Bartolomeo followed him, though not before shooting Sage an angry look. The stoat stared after them for a while, then put his saw over his shoulder and limped back in the direction of the army.


	25. 22: His Not to Do or Die

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 22. His Not to Reason Why, But to Do and Die  
**

_by Brooketail  
_

"Donnall? Donnall?" Brooketail's frantic cries were met with strange looks, as the ferret darted through the crowd of horde beasts. He saw frightened beasts, angry faces and a bemused Moonshot. No sign of his boy. The remnants of the Red Fire Army were encircled in the courtyard of the abbey, stern woodlanders surrounding them.

"Hey!" Brooketail grasped at a young ferret, only to realise it was Avery. He seemed to be in a state of shock, staring wild-eyed at Brooketail as if he had never met him before. He turned away in exasperation, trying to barge his way out of the ring of Redwall's finest.

"Where's Donnall?" An otter shoved him back towards the encircled vermin.

"Move back, old beast! Back!" Brooketail closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He glared at the woodlander.

"Where is my son, you stinking whelp of a sea rat!" The otter growled and went to strike him. Brooketail raised his axe menacingly.

"Enough!" He hesitated. An old vole in brown robes hurried to the courtyard, brow furrowed. He approached the pair and looked quizzically from Brooketail to the otter.

"Puddles, what's going on?" the vole demanded.

"This 'ere ferret's tryin' to make trouble, Abbot."

"I think you'll find Puddles is a slack jawed thug, Abbot," Brooketail countered, pressing on before Puddles could get a word in.

"My son is gone. He's been left outside. You must do something!" He faltered as the Abbot stiffened. He could tell that these Redwall beasts would not even contemplate assisting him. The Abbot's face was a mural of thought, emotional anguish and painful reality.

"We... that is, it's... I don't want to, but..." A heavy sigh of acceptance, "I'm afraid it's... likely too late, my friend."

"Then let me go, Abbot. I said I'd keep him safe."

"Your son is on 'is own now, ferret. I'm s'prised a vermin'd risk 'is neck for another." Brooketail sneered and cocked his head at Puddles. Every second these fools spent debating with him was a waste of time.

"I'm not the one being the heartless, gutless coward here! Open that door. If we knock again, let us in. If not, no fur off yer back. Right?" He stared down the Abbot. The two beasts contemplated each other intently.

"Open the doors. Let this one out," the abbot announced. Brooketail gave him a toothy, sarcastic grin and headed for the gates of Redwall, axe in hand.

"Grandad?" He stopped. The woodlanders at the gates waited, confused. The ferret turned. There was his eldest grandkit, scared and alone. Fortin was growing up faster than Brooketail could believe. He beamed, genuinely now. A yip of terror sounded from outside the stone walls. His expression of joy faded. He set off to leave again, but Fortin called to him.

"Grandad? Why are you going? Can't you stay?" Brooketail gave the kit an anguished look. He could stay. Care for his little ones. Perhaps they would grow stronger than Donnall, perhaps be the most proud and resolute ferrets in Mossflower. Yet the thought of abandoning weak Donnall for his offspring sickened Brooketail to the core.

Fortin seemed to realise there was something wrong. Brooketail knelt as the kit ran forward and embraced him. He kissed Fortin's brow and brushed back his fur. Eventually, Brooketail stood, almost unable to wrench himself from his grandkit. However, leaving Donnall to his fate was simply not an option.

"Yer safe, Fortin," Brooketail gestured outside, "Yer dad is not. I'm bringing him home."

~~~

Brooketail strode through the stone archway, head held high, eyeing the cowardly woodlanders with utter scorn and disdain. He had been left alone to look after Donnall ever since Frieda, the boy's mother, had died. It was fitting he should rescue him alone too.

The scene before him was of unrestrained carnage. It seemed that a battle had been fought, yet he knew it had been a slaughter. His heart trembled to imagine that one of the bloodied corpses might be his Donnall. He hurried from body to body. The morning had been the bloodiest he had seen since he had served innumerable seasons ago.

"Dad!" Donnall's voice echoed across the moors. Brooketail glanced up. There in the distance was the monster. The giant, hulking iron badger that had crushed an army. In its huge iron paw was a limp body. Brooketail's heart nearly stopped. Then, he sprinted for it.

He dashed towards the badger, gasping for breath, faster than he had run in seasons. The monster regarded him blankly. Donnall was scruffed by the neck, bloodied and close to fainting. Brooketail slowed to a steady pace and stopped before the creature.

"Let go of him. Now." Brooketail could not even feel his own horror at the sight of the iron fiend, next to his scalding fury. The badger wordlessly dropped Donnall, snorted and lumbered towards Brooketail.

"Donnall! Get up!" Brooketail saw his son rise shakily to his paws.

"Run."

"Dad!"

"Run! _Run!_" Brooketail held his tears at bay. He said he would keep Donnall safe. He had failed. He had abandoned him during the attack in his own panic. He had sent him to live in an abbey full of hostile woodlanders. Worst of all, he would leave him in a brutal, unrelenting world in the company of horde beasts trapped by a creature too mortifying for him to describe.

"Dad…" Donnall ran, dazed. Brooketail knew he was not in the clear yet. He would have to hold off the monster until Donnall was home in Redwall. Brimstone loomed over him, glaring at the ferret and his axe.

"Where?" The badger barked.

"You stay away from him. You stay away from my family, you hear?" Brooketail commanded in response. He was livid, his fur on end. He was shaking, knowing what was coming next. He hefted his axe threateningly.

"Pathetic." Brooketail flinched as the badger swept the axe from his paw. It grabbed him and pulled him up. It shook him; its great iron paws slowly forcing his breath from his body.

"I shall be complete! And you will not stop me!" The badger bawled in the old ferret's face. Brooketail snarled in response.

"Come on then! I'll be at Hellgates before you've had breakfast!" He drew back his fist and punched the iron plated face. Brimstone roared. Every beast on Redwall's ramparts was transfixed by the scene below. An incredulous screech heralded Solgrim's alarm as he saw Brooketail in the clutches of the monster.

The badger slammed Brooketail to the ground, crushing his bones. Blood trickled from his mouth. His vision seemed soft and out of focus. The pain faded from his body. He supposed it was only a scratch, really. He would laugh it off and see Doctor Sage about it. The stoat would probably scold him for making such a fuss. Brooketail smiled weakly as he watched Donnall disappear into Redwall Abbey.

"That'll do, lad," he whispered. Brooketail nodded off. He needed a rest, after all.


	26. 23: So Like Do They Seem to My Lov'd One

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 23. So Like Do they seem to My Lov'd One  
**

_by Sage  
_

_"...Yet foul from their eyes shines their evil."_ -H.P. Lovecraft

Sage juggled the empty bottles easily, tossing them a little higher up into the air every revolution and never once dropping one. He was so absorbed in this activity that he didn't noticed that his nurse had entered the tent until she tapped him on the shoulder.

"Yes?" he asked, still juggling.

"Chief Moonshot just told me that you've been demoted back to private. Is that true?"

"Oh, yeah. Ol' Moonshine apparently didn't like the way I saved all our tails."

"He said that you lied about his orders and sent a bunch of soldiers on a suicide mission."

Sage kept his focus on the revolving bottles. "That's true. Did he mention the fact that without me we all would have died horribly?"

The female stoat sighed, "Look, Francis might have tolerated your grumbling as long as you were still loyal to the army, but I think that you cross the line when you start actively undermining his authority."

Sage shrugged.

"Oh, and one more thing. You know Brooketail, that guy that you used to convince the Abbey to let us in?"

"Yeah, what about him?"

"Well he's dead. That badger smashed him up right in front of the gates."

The peg-legged stoat raised an eyebrow. "And I should care about this why, exactly? I think that he's a bit beyond out help now."

The nurse opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and then opened it again, "I knew it was too much to expect that you might actually feel a little upset about that. Now listen, Moonshot promoted me to your old rank and position. The first thing I'm supposed to do is tell you to get out of my tent."

"Your tent?"

"Mine now. Sorry, but I'm the horde's doctor, which means that the medical tent is now my domain. Or it would be if we hadn't left it back at the barn, so my domain is this tent that you stole from somebeast. Again, I'm sorry, but apparently I have to assume all of the duties and privileges that you had in your previous rank..."

One of the bottles crashed to the ground, shortly followed by its two companions. Sage stood up suddenly from his chair, grabbed his saw and a nearly full bottle that was on the operating table, and stomped out of the tent. He did not leave, however, without saying, "Good luck with your new duties, _Sergeant_ Jade. Just so you know, those are my damn stripes that you're wearing."

Jade watched Sage leave and sighed. She'd known that he wouldn't take it very well, and at least he hadn't actually tried to hurt her. But still...there was something in Sage that could be better, and she had always hoped that she could coax it out. This was certainly a barrier to her progress, but Jade would continue trying. She owed him that much.

Sage, meanwhile, was stomping across the improvised Red Fire Army camp in a foul temper. "Damn nurse," he muttered to himself. "She takes my job and my rank, and then she gets all uppity and orders me out of my tent. I put up with her hiding my drinks and forcing me to visit that ferret, and then she turns on me as soon as Moonshot gives her a bit of authority. And now what am I supposed to do, eh? Sixteen damn seasons of service and they bump me down to private!"

The stoat stopped his rambling when he noticed that he had crossed through the camp and arrived at the north wallgate. Sage puffed on his cigar as he looked at the gate and contemplated his present situation. There was certainly no future left for him in the Red Fire Army, and he knew that private practice doctors had it made, especially in northern cities in which woodcutting accidents were common and competent surgeons few. Hell, he'd grown up in one. Given all that he really had only one option, and the stoat felt no remorse at the idea of leaving the army that he had spent nearly half his lifetime in. Mind made up, Sage quietly unbolted the gate and stole off into Mossflower woods.

The going was not easy, as it is hard to navigate deep snows when you have a wooden peg in place of one leg. But Sage soldered on, blowing on his cigar and taking pulls out of his bottle for warmth. Then he heard a sound that turned his blood cold: a loud roar just to his left. _Damn, damn, damn,_ he thought, _how could I have forgotten that badger? _

The stoat limped as fast as he could, but it was hopeless. A peg-legged beast has a very poor chance of outrunning a full grown badger at top speed, moreso when the badger in question had Vulpuz knows what bizarre substances in his body to induce unnatural strength and speed. The badger soon burst out of the trees in front of Sage. Reacting quickly, the stoat threw his bottle at the badger. His aim was off, as usual, and instead of hitting the badger in the face the bottle shattered on its armor and spilled down the unarmored left side. Before Sage could do anything else, the badger was upon him. It grabbed him around the waist with one huge paw, lifting him up level with its mask.

"Where is the professor?" it bellowed in his face.

The stoat's mind worked quickly. The thing obviously wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer, so he would have to make it release him some other way. How exactly do you hurt something covered in armor plating...Sage realized that he was unconsciously puffing on his cigar as he thought, and a slow smile came onto his face when he noticed the badger's rum-soaked right arm and remembered.

"Well," said Sage, speaking slowly as he blew on his cigar to make the end as hot as possible, "I think I might know where the professor is, and where you can meet him..."

"Where? Where?" demanded the badger.

"I think that you'll meet the professor in Hellgates," replied the stoat, throwing the cigar. Due to the fact that he was not standing on the ground and his pegleg could not influence his balance, Sage's aim was spot-on. The badger's arm immediately blossomed into flame and it threw Sage hard against a tree and ran off bellowing.

_That didn't exactly go as planned_, thought the stoat. He could tell that his back was broken, and judging by the fact that it was getting hard to breathe he had lost at least one lung as well. And he still had his saw, clutched in his right paw. Sage knew that he was done for and didn't want to stay alive long enough for the badger to come back, because there was no way a little fire would be able to kill that thing. If it did come back, it would be very, very angry. And all he had was his saw...

Sage examined the saw for a moment, then raised it to his throat and made one quick cut.

"Sagacious, are you even listening to me?"

Sagacious D. Josephson raised his head and met the gaze of the older male stoat standing in front of him. "Yes father, I'm listening. You said that it was high time that I got a job and learned some useful skills."

Joseph nodded. "Exactly. Now, Mr. Flintclaw the surgeon told me that he's looking for an apprentice, and I mentioned your name. I think you should go and check it out, son. Surgery's a fine trade, and it's definitely a step up from weaving."

Sage shrugged. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to have a look. But I already told you that I wanted to join the performing troupe that comes through town every few seasons."

"And far be it for me to squash your dreams, son. But the troupe won't be coming through for a while yet, and you could do worse things to pass the time than learn a bit of surgery."

The teenaged stoat got out of his chair and walked out of the door, taking his beret from the hatstand first. "That sounds fair. I'll go and see him later today."

"Ah, yer Mister Joseph's boy, ain't'cha?" asked Flintclaw, the large rat who served as the town's surgeon.

"Yessir," replied Sage.

"Well, welcome to th' surgerary profession. It's a pretty easy gig, provided that yeh remember everything that I'm goin' to teach ya. So are yeh game?"

"Yessir."

The rat clapped Sage on the back heartily, "That's th' spirit, m'boy! We'll make a doctor out of yeh yet. Now come with me to th' operatin' room an' I'll show yeh how t' handle a simple leg amputatin'. Mister Pinetail had a bit of an accident with an axe earlier t'day, an' this should be a fine teachin' opportunity."

"That's okay, boy. It takes some beasts like that first time. I remember when I did my first job. Passed out right there on th' floor."

Sage straightened up from the window and wiped a paw across his mouth. "Sorry, sir. It was all that blood. I'll work on it."

"Excellent! Yeh can solve any problem by workin' at it," said Flintclaw. "Now maybe we ought t' hold off on th' actual surgery a bit longer, but there are plenty of other things that yeh need t' know t' be a surgeon. First is painkillers. Nothin' spoils a good cut like th' beast wakin' up and screamin' in th' middle of it..."

"Hey, juggler! Get your head out of the clouds and come and help me here."

Sage walked over to the squirrel and assisted him in loading the boxes into the cheerily-painted cart. The cart's now faded paint still read 'The Marvelous Acting Troupe! For the amusement of the General Public and their Offspring!'

"Good job there, by the way," said the squirrel after they had finished packing the cart, which the troupe's badger began hauling up the hill. "Not bad at all for a first show. Where'd you learn to juggle like that?"

The stoat shrugged. "I don't know. It kind of happened by itself."

"Well, you're pretty good at it, anyway."

"Thank you sir, I appreciate that- look out!"

The heavy cart had slipped out of the badger's grasp somehow and was thundering down the hill. Sage tackled the squirrel, pushing him out of the juggernaut's path, but in doing so put himself in the danger zone. The cart's wheel rolled over his leg just below the knee, partially severing it. As the other members of the troupe crowded around worriedly, Sage blacked out.

The stoat awoke to see that most of the other performers had scattered, but there was one nervous-looking otter standing over him wielding an old rusty woodsaw. Sage noticed in a dreamy sort of way the state of his leg and realized the otter's intention. He grabbed the saw from the beast's unresisting hands and preformed the amputation himself, gritting his teeth against the pain and muttering, "Can't trust an amateur to do it right. Hell, you weren't even holding it right...now go and get some yarrow, make a poultice and spread it on the wound. Then wrap my leg _tightly_ in banda..."

Sage's eyes closed as he descended into unconsciousness once again.

"Well boy, you've done it. There's nothin' left t' teach you now. An' I have t' say it, yer one of th' best apprentices I've trained," said Flintclaw, shaking the stoat's paw despite that fact that it was still bloodstained from his 'Final Examination.'

"Thank you sir," said Sage. He contemplated bowing, but rejected the idea due to the fact that even after more than a season he was still unsteady on his new peg leg and didn't think that he could manage it.

"So what are yeh goin' t' do now? I could always use an extra pair o' paws around th' surgery, but I don't think a young beast like yeh would enjoy that."

"Actually, there are some recruiters from the Red Fire Army in town right now. I was thinking that I could get a job with them."

"Army doctor's a fine job," said the rat, wiping his paws on his apron. "Pays pretty well an' there's never a shortage of patients. You could cert'nly do worse 'n that."

"Corporal! We've got some patients right here," called the ferret as he and his companion entered the medical tent.

Sagacious Josephson, the Red Fire Army's newest doctor's assistant (also known as 'nurse') examined the prone figures that they deposited on the operating table, "These aren't even soldiers; they're just some mouse and mole."

"Aye, that's right," said the ferret. "Captain Janis wants these two fixed up so she can finish interrogating them."

"And I'd do it right, if I were you," said the female stoat who had just entered the tent. Sage noticed that the ferret and rat were saluting, and followed suit.

"At ease," said the stoat. She walked over to Sage. "So you're the new nurse, eh?"

"Er, yes. I assume that you're Captain Janis?"

"Exactly. You're a smart one, aren't you? Handsome, too. Now get these two sorry sacks of fur patched up soon; maybe they'll learn not to withhold information from me." With that she swept out of the tent.

"Huh," said the rat, "She seems to have taken a shine to you."

"That's good, right?" asked Sage.

The ferret grinned, "That depends on your point of view. Janis is a damn good captain, but I don't think that I'd want to get on her bad side. Good luck, anyway."

"Well, that was an interesting wedding," said Sage.

Janis tilted her head, "Why do you say that?"

"From what I've heard the celebration is supposed to end with throwing rice or flower petals, not by broaching a few barrels of beer and sneaking out when all the guests are unconscious."

"It's more fun that way!" laughed the female stoat. "I swear Sage, you really have a stunted sense of fun sometimes."

"True, but I don't think Cromley or Moonshot will be happy when half the army show up with hangovers tomor- hello, who are you?"

Another female stoat walked into the tent and dropped a large mace at Janis's paws.

"Oh, this is Jade. She's my oldest friend; I'm amazed you two haven't met already. Jade, what is this thing?"

Jade pulled three daggers out of her pocket and dropped them by the mace as she replied, "Wedding gifts. There were also several drinks, but those disappeared around the time that everybeast started singing 'The slaughter of the Crew of the Rusty Chain.' Interesting new verse, by the way. You can really do that with a leg?"

Sage nodded. "I'm a doctor. I'd know these things."

"Aye, he's a doctor all right. Sometimes his patients survive!" said Janis, and the three of them dissolved into laughter.

"Doctor Josephson! We need you out here right now!"

"Eh?" Sage looked up from his book. "Bonetail's handling the battle today, so if there's anybeast wounded then you should go her first."

"Bonetail's still the doctor?" asked the ferret standing at the entrance of the medical tent.

"Of course. Why wouldn't she be?"

"Well, there's a slingstone in her head..."

Sage immediately got up and limped out the door, grabbing his hat and a bag of medical supplies on the way out. The ferret led him to where his predecessor lay on the outskirts of camp, her blood staining the snow, and Sage removed the sergeant's stripes from the old fox's shoulder and pinned them to his hat. That was it, then. After eight seasons of service in the Red Fire Army, he was now a full doctor. He was somebeast important...

"Duck!" shouted the ferret. Sage instinctively hit the ground as a volley of slingstones and arrows whizzed overhead. There was a battle going on. Right. Don't forget that.

"You okay? You looked rather odd for a second there," asked the ferret, who owing to his small stature had escaped the barrage without even needing to move.

"Yeah," said Sage. "I'm...fine. I'm fine. Just got lost in thought for a second there. Thanks for saving me, by the way."

His benefactor tipped his hat graciously. "No problem. I'm here to help."

The stoat began walking to the main body of the Red Fire Army, then stopped. "Say, I never got your name."

"They call me Doc."

"Wait, why? I thought I was the doctor," Sage looked around. "Hey, where'd he go?"

"Who?" asked a weasel who happened to be jogging past on his way to the ranks.

"Never mind."

Sage limped over to the back of the army, a fifty or so yards from where Bonetail had fallen. He wondered for a moment what kind of otter could sling a stone over the entire Red Fire Army and then still kill a target quite a ways away, and decided not to think about it. Standing behind what looked like the most heavily-armored squad, he informed the nearest captain that Bonetail had died and that he was now the army doctor.

The stoat quickly realized that being the official doctor was not a terribly exciting job. Most of the beasts that were carried to the back of the ranks had an injury that was not lethal in any sense but still stopped them from fighting. Those with extreme wounds like missing limbs usually died on the spot, and Sage's duties that day mostly consisted of slapping a bandage on a bleeding arm and sending the beast back to his tent.

Then a stoat limped to the back of the army. He had an arrow stuck in his leg, which was pretty much business as usual for Sage. The doctor pulled out the arrow and tied a bandage over the hole. Then the patient asked, "Am I gonna be okay, doc?"

Sage grinned and patted the stoat on the back, "You're going to be just fine. Get back to your tent and visit me again tomorrow. I'll have something to put on that leg to stop infection."

"Thanks, that's a relief. I thought I was going to be crippled for li-"

A slingstone smashed the stoat's skull at that moment, spraying his blood everywhere. As the beast fell, Sage looked down at himself. He was covered in blood, all over his white ermine fur. There was blood all over the ground, on the snow, blood dripping into his eyes...Sage was down on his hands and knees retching...he saw red and white spinning before his eyes...and then he passed out.

"I'm sorry captain, but I don't really think that you should see him now. He's still out like he was when we brought him in and we don't want to wake him up.

"Bugger that, he's my husband!"

"Yes, well he's also our only doctor and we need to take good care of him, so if you would come back later after he's woken-"

_Thwack!_

"Ow!"

"I'd let her in if I were you. She can do much worse when she really gets angry."

"...Come bon in."

Sage sat up weakly and saw Janis and Jade walking in his direction and a weasel holding a handkerchief to his nose lurking by the tent flap, against the background of the medical tent.

"Ah, what happened?"

"This weasel fellow here found you spot out on the battlefield lying next to a dead stoat covered in blood and your stomach fillings," explained Janis.

"Lovely."

"Oh, and I found your leg," said Jade, holding up the wooden peg.

"...What."

"It slipped off somehow when they were carrying you. Jade and I looked over half the camp when we heard they brought you in without it."

"Thanks," said Sage. He looked at Janis for a second, and then began shivering and covered his eyes.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Your uniform...red and white..."

"Oh, it's my fur and my shirt. Funny, you always said you liked to see me in the uniform."

Sage managed a weak grin. "Heh, that's not it. It was all that blood all over the snow...and myself. Seeing all that kind of gave me a funny turn."

"Really? I thought you doctor types were okay with blood."

"Not whenever it's covering me I'm not. I think some of it went up my nose. Look, I'm sure it's just a temporary thing, but could you try to avoid wearing red on white in the meantime?"

"Sure. In fact, I'll start right now. Jade, hand me that apron. The brown one. Oh, and some rags, but soak them in the snow first."

"Thanks for obliging," said Sage as Janis tied the apron on. "But why the damp cloths?"

"Because if you're going to be this scared of red and white, I don't think that you'd like to look at yourself right now. Lazy buggers who brought you in never even bothered to clean you off."

"Oh. Joy. So I guess that means I'll be washing my sheets too."

"Bah, haven't I told you that you have no sense of fun sometimes? Now hand over your shirt; I've got some cleaning to do."

"How are you feeling today?" asked Sage.

"Worse," replied Janis, who was lying on an extra cot in the medical tent. "Damn that Cromley. He knew it was a plague town when he sent us in..."

She trailed off into a fit of coughing, and Sage pulled her blankets back up to her neck.

"Sh, I told you not to talk to much. You'll only get better if you help me here."

She nodded as Sage measured out a spoonful of dark liquid. "Now this is something new that I made from one of Bonetail's old books. It should help."

"Thanks." She swallowed the foul-tasting concoction and then lay still for a moment.

"There. Now, are you feeling any better? The book said the draught's effects should be almost immediate."

Janis opened her mouth to reply, but she started coughing violently. She kept coughing for about five minutes while Sage tried vainly to give her various medicines, and then she finally stopped.

"Janis...are you okay?" asked the stoat cautiously. He then saw that her chest was unnaturally still, and the blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth. Sage mechanically made a note of the patient's name and the cause of death in his notebook, then locked it in the strongest cabinet in the medical tent.

The stoat sat next to Janis's body for a while, then got up and limped over to one of the many cabinets lining the tent's wall. He opened it, took out the bottle inside, smashed the top open on the counter, and poured the contents down his throat.

When Jade walked into the tent over an hour later and saw Sage lying on the floor amidst empty bottles and Janis lying on the cot, she immediately realized what had happened. She walked over to the prone stoat and lifted him out of the sea of bottles, saying, "Don't worry, it's not your fault. You did everything you could."

"Everything?" said Sage groggily. "_Everything_? I killed her, dammit! I killed her! It's my fault..."

Sage tossed his cigar on to the oil soaked woodpile, which burst into flames enthusiastically. He stared at the form in the middle of the blaze for a while, then limped away. Jade caught up with him as he was ducking under the flap and grabbed his arm.

"What in hellgate's name was that?" she demanded.

"What are you talking about?"

"That funeral you gave Janis! All you did was drone on about how she was a good captain and how much of a loss her death was to the army. She was your _wife_, for Vulpuz's sake. Would it have killed you to show some emotion?"

"Why?" asked a rather irritated Sage. "She was a female stoat. There are scores of female stoats out there. Nothing special. But she was a good captain, and I don't think that the army will do very well without her."

Jade stood there shaking for a second, then punched Sage in the stomach. "That's for Janis, you insensitive bastard."

Sage planted his pegleg on the weasel's shoulder and pressed down while pulling at the saw embedded in the beast's neck. It came free with a sucking sound, and Sage wiped the blood on his apron as he spoke to the prone weasel.

"That'll teach you to go snooping. I told you specifically not to read that notebook, and I'll be damned if you don't go read that notebook. Oh, hello Jade. What is it you want?"

The female stoat swallowed and said, "Er, Captain Loosestrife told me to tell you that he needs more medicine for his headaches..."

"Ah, yes. Here you go." Sage picked a bottle off the shelf and handed it to her. "Oh, and by the way, I need a new assistant. I don't suppose you'd like to volunteer?.."

Jade swallowed again. On one paw, she had just seen him murder his previous assistant. On the other paw...she still considered Sage a friend even after the events of four seasons ago, if only for Janis's sake, and if he didn't have some kind of help he was only going to get worse.

"...Okay."

"Excellent," said Sage. "You can start tomorrow."

He picked up the body of his ex-assistant, and separated the head from the body with a few strokes from his saw. He held up the head and examined it.

"Do you think this would make a good hatstand?"

And then he died.

Sage realized in a vague kind of way that he was dead, judging from the fact that he was standing in front of a pair of giant iron gates.

"Huh, so this is Hellgates. Not really very exciting."

THIS IS NOT HELLGATES, YET. YOU MAY THINK OF THIS AS...THE IN-BETWEEN

"Lovely. And you must be Death."

IT'S THE ROBE, ISN'T IT? THE ROBE ALWAYS GIVES IT WAY said the seven-foot tall rat skeleton carrying a scythe.

"So what happens here? I always thought that you went to Hellgates or the Dark Forest, not some kind of waiting room."

THIS, SAGACIOUS DUMONT JOSEPHSON, IS WHERE YOUR LIFE IS WEIGHED. ALL YOUR SINS, ALL YOUR GOOD DEEDS. ALL MUST BE PROPERLY ACCOUNTED FOR.

"I assume that's what those are for," said Sage, gesturing to the brass scales in Death's paws.

CORRECT.

"Well, let's get this over with then."

AS YOU WISH.

Sage watched as the scales began to tip, though it was impossible to see what exactly was on them. Soon the scales began to lean greatly to one side, and an ominous feeling kindled in the stoat's stomach.

IT IS DONE.

Before Sage could say anything, Death raised its hand and the gates vanished in a flash of light. When the spots stopped blinking in front of his eyes, Sage realized that he was standing in the middle of a forest.

"Well, this is original. A forest. Not really very clear, either. Isn't Hellgates supposed to have one of those too? Where am I?"

Suddenly a familiar voice called out from the trees, "Hello Sage."

The stoat put a paw over his eyes. "Dammit."

A female stoat wearing a red dress strolled into the clearing. "Well, it certainly is nice to see you again. And look at this, you can't wake up either. This will be _great_."

"Janis, why do you keep on doing this to me? It was an accident-"

The female stoat held up a paw to silence him. "You are wrong there, Sagacious. I'm not your precious wife; I'm your perception of her. All of your guilt and fear, centered on one thing."

Sage tried to run out of the clearing, but she caught him by the collar. "Don't you run, now. I've got to be with you for all of eternity. It's your sins, you see. Your punishment. You spent all your life trying to escape me, and now I'm with you forever! Why are you screaming, Sage? I always said you had a stunted sense of fun..."

On the highest mountain in the land of the dead, Lord Vulpuz, master of life and death, sat on his throne gazing out over his domain. He seemed troubled about something.

"Do you think that was right?"

OH, MOST CERTAINLY. HAVE YOU SEEN HIS LIFE? HE SHOULD BE GLAD IT'S NOT THE LAVA PITS.

"Still...that nurse seemed to care about him. What could she see that we couldn't?"

MORTALS ARE LIKE THAT, LORD. SEEING GOOD WHERE THERE IS NONE. I WOULDN'T LET IT INFLUENCE YOU TOO MUCH. TRUST ME, THAT STOAT DESERVES EVERY SECOND OF HIS ETERNAL DAMNATION.

end of week two.


	27. 24: Grisilde is deed

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

start of week three.

**Chapter 24. "Grisilde is deed, and eek hire pacience.."  
**

_by Benedict  
_

_"Ther may no thyng, God so my soule save,  
Liken to yow that may displese me;  
Ne I desire no thyng for to have,  
Ne drede for to leese, save oonly yee.  
This wyl is in myn herte, and ay shal be;  
No lengthe of tyme or deeth may this deface,  
Ne chaunge my corage to another place."_  
- Chaucer, The Clerk's Tale

Benedict's fits had struck again. Clare could tell when they would happen. He would pick restlessly at his clothing, strike her, or call her stupid. His gaze was vacant- she wondered if he had actually fixed on an individual mote floating in the air, or if he was thinking. Those were the warnings. Then it would come over him. She imagined her dress pinching and twisting about her thrashing limbs, and it made her sick.

Benedict, Yael, and Devorah had been helping to pitch the tent when it happened. He crawled inside, and she went after him, nestling his head in her lap as he twitched.

"Yael?"

"Yes, lady?"

"Will you brush me?"

"Aye." The weasel ran her claws through Clare's fur, picking apart little mats. She hummed. Jigging the coin-purse at her waist, the other maid- Devorah- kept time as she swept the ground free of snow. "Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka moya..."

Benedict's ears felt like velvet under her paw. He was still.

Though she didn't understand her maids, she tried to mouth the words to the song. They sounded like they were chanting at matins. They should have been in black habits, like at her old convent.

She was sent there for an education- she learned stitchery and how to dress a scrape. There the novitiate sisters taught her to tease a curl from her fur and where they hid the mirror the Reverend Mother declared forbidden. The Mother only let her schoolkits change dress twice a month because of humility, even if they dirtied themselves, and they never took their underclothes off unless it was a bathing-day. Eventually she couldn't get her arms past the shoulder-seams of both habits and there wasn't anything to let out. She would set a table and scrub dishes without pouting. Her father came to get her, and he took her on a spice-ship over the sea. She still didn't know how to read. Maybe the answer to his sickness was in a book somewhere; she would never know.

She tucked her dress under herself and then saw to Benedict's clothing. One of his buttons was loose. She hooked her claw underneath and coiled the thread about it, popping the button off. One of the weasels could fix it, maybe. The button gleamed sullenly, like bad coin. When this was over and they could sell their wares, she would buy pearls and sew them to everything.

Benedict stared up at her. "We cannot go in?"

"I don't want to impose. They won't- they won't like us."

"Ahh," he said. He twitched his tail. It _thup_ped on the frozen soil. "Ahh, my love. I am so sorry." He struggled upright and took her face in his paws.

"I forgive you."

He licked her cheek, flattening a tuft of fur, scraping the angry scratches he had made. She winced, and he kissed her nose. "I am bad. I am very bad. We will go, they will give us a bed."

"No, no," she said. "Lie down. I don't want to go there." She set her paw on his brow. He was always hot to the touch.

"I need the tonic," he said. "You will find some?"

"Where?"

"Their infirmary."

"Oh. Yes." She frowned. "You can't need it so much."

"I hurt. They are foul hags in that abbey." He licked her paw-pad. "Maybe they will listen to you."

The air felt tinny-crisp, and it hurt her teeth when she breathed. She missed her summer dresses redolent of cinnamon and cedar; the robe she wore now was gull-grey and bristly. Wearing it she was cold, a horrible heavy iciness that didn't come from the snow. Maybe the dress had been woven with metal.

Spread over the lawn there was a field of tents and lean-tos and scrapings in the snow; there were beasts in bright armor and scrap bandages; there was a quiet, disconsolate mutter all through the camp. Moonshot had gone to the abbey. Something dark soared overhead, and Clare shuddered. It was only a bird. A scrawny weasel-kit shouted at the thing, launched a snowball, a missile that made an inadequate arc and thudded in the snow. "Ugly-beak!"

"Don't do that, lad," said a soldier, and tutted. "Ill thing t'court..."

The abbey felt the way all stone things do in winter: hateful chill issued from every brick. She stubbed her paw on a stair, cursed, whimpered.

A fat hedgehog on his way down stopped and took her paw. "You're all right?"

"I think- oh!—_Hell_," she said. "I'm so sorry- I didn't mean- I broke a claw."

"Let's see." He knelt. "If you don't mind."

Clare lifted her hem a few inches.

"Very scandalous! Let's see." He drew a pair of shears from his belt. "Ah, nothing to worry, I'll just-"

"Oh, 'Gates! Oh 'Gates, oh." She squealed. Beaming, the hedgehog held the claw out to her. She hopped and hissed and shook her paw. "Thank- thank you."

"Madam Saltarelli?"

She flinched.

"So good to see you well," Cromley drawled. "I had hoped you were unharmed."

"Naught but a claw, easily done," said the hedgehog. He bounced the clipping in his paw. "Can't tell you how many times a clumsy dibbun does it. My own son, even. My regards, Miss- Saltarelli. Saltarelli?"

Cromley regarded her. She curtsied to the hedgehog. "You have been very kind."

"Take my paw," said Cromley. "Walk with me. Where are you going?"

"The infirmary."

She hooked her arm with his. A queer, queasy swell rose in her stomach, her throat; she felt half-choked and dizzy. She needed to lean against the wall. Cromley took her paw and held it for a moment. His eyes narrowed- it might have been pleasure. She drew away, held the paw to her mouth, and she quivered. "I must go. I _must_ go."

"No errands, then?"

"I shouldn't tarry."

"Your husband, I am sure."

"Please," she whispered, "please let me go."

He stepped back. She lurched down the stairs, passed again the hedgehog, steadied herself, took each step with deliberate tread. Her belly swayed. At the door to the outside she stopped to gasp, and fight for breath. She had a vision of herself worn to grey rags, dangling from the claws of the dark and hateful bird. Benedict waited for her.


	28. 25: Do You Bite Your Thumb at Me, Sir?

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 25. Do You Bite Your Thumb at Me, Sir?  
**

_by Benedict and Vidya  
_

Vidya walked through the abbey grounds, the trampled snow crunching under her footpaws. New tents dotted the landscape everywhere the vixen looked. _Just yesterday we were fightin' them, now we're feedin' them._ Vidya shook her head and kept walking.

As she neared the outer edge of the horde's tents, she noticed one standing apart from the rest. It was larger and somehow _fancy_. As Vidya neared it, she thought she could see the shadows of the cat that had been at the abbey before the attack and what could only be his mate. She thought she heard them arguing.

"You went to see him."

"No! No, I-" This was punctuated by a shriek. "I didn't want to go, I asked you."

"_You went to see him_!" Beasts said later they hadn't heard a fight; the lady had giggled and danced all the night before; her maids were camp followers, fond of drink, fond of soldiers; she had a sly look. The tom chased her from the tent. She cowered in the snow and screamed.

"Quiet."

She screamed louder still. A flash of gray: he struck her over the head.

Vidya strode quickly between the cat and his mate. "Don't ya touch 'er again!"

"I have full right of her, and will."

"A lady's not somethin' ya own. 'Full right', indeed." The vixen turned to Clare. "Ya just go 'an sit over there. 'e won't 'urt ya again."

"Don't," she said. "Please let it be."

"Shut up," said the cat. "What quarrel do you have? Why should you tell me anything?"

"Because no Lady should 'ave t'put up with scum like ya. An' if she won't do anythin' about it, I will. I've seen beasts beat their wives before, an' I won't stand by watchin' like it was nothin'. No beast should while ya 'urt 'er, especially in 'er condition." Vidya looked around at the beasts that had gathered to watch; none of the others were making a move to defend the cat.

"You _would_ quarrel, witch. Come, then!"

"I've got no problem with ya unless ya insist on beatin' on 'elpless beasts. Leave 'er alone, an' I'll leave ya alone."

"I shan't." He kicked snow at Vidya.

Vidya dusted the snow off her skirt front and glowered at the cat. She clenched and unclenched her paws. Turning to the female, she said, "Ya can stay with me an' my son, then. It won't be what ya're used t'avin', but ya will be safe from 'im."

She was shivering. "You mustn't."

"Hag." The cat flattened his ears. He made a fist.

Vidya deftly grabbed one of her knives and held the point on the cat's groin. She held his raised fist with her other paw. "Make one more move an' ya won't lord over anybeast again. An' ya owe an apology to yar wife an' to me."

He sneered. His breath stank; it was a smell the texture of crusting mold. "You make a fine bluff."

Vidya held the cat's gaze. She pulled the knife back and flicked it across his paw. A thin line of blood appeared on the pad. "I wouldn't think twice."

He fell back, clasping the paw to his chest. It left a glimmering smear on his doublet. His eyes rolled, he stared beyond his wife and Vidya, he shook a little- licked his paw, sniveled- slunk away, with his head hung. His hips rolled like a barmaid's.

The lady wiped a dribble of bloody mucus from her cheek. "I have my maids. You shouldn't have done that."

"I wasn't goin' t'just sit an' watch ya get 'urt. Now let's get ya over by my fire an' wrapped up. Ya're shakin'." Vidya wrapped her arm around her to lead her to the tents.

The cat shrugged her off. "Let me be."

The vixen watched as a pair of weasels led her off. Vidya shook her head and looked to the clearing crowd. "Why didn't any of ya stand up t'that coward? Thought ya would just watch the show? It's disgraceful, all of ya. Get out of 'ere!"

"Come on, Ma," Tandava said, joining Vidya as she turned towards their camp. "Ya should probably stay away from those cats for a while, too."

"I will, son. I just wish she would 'ave come with us."


	29. 26: A Whelp Confused as a Sky at Sea

This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "Midnight Mossflower II" from our user page.

* * *

**Chapter 26. A Whelp Confused as a Sky at Sea**

_by Vivienne_

"You did _what[_?" Viv's voice was shrill in the weaselkit's ears. He cringed - that tone pulled at his hind-brain like a talon on an ear.

"It's not my fault, ma!"

"Not your fault? Did someone make you throw things at that old buzzard?"

"He tried t' kill ye'!" Jinck shouted.

"He tried to kill you!" Viv shouted right back. "He tried to kill you last time, and fates save us, this time you go and play a cuckoo when I'm not around."

"But ma!"

"No 'buts', furryface. You act a fool and imagine what happens to the rest of 'em." She pulled a face, like she did when she ate a rancid seed. "To me..."

The weasel fell silent, becoming incredibly interested in the ground between them, his tail twitching awkward agitation against his thighs.

Viv sighed. "Go on, then. Take a walk. We've a hundred new souls tromping about, see if any young 'uns are around without someone to mind 'em."

Jinck hated the cold.

He didn't hate winter. Winter was fun. Winter meant snow, which was one of the best things on earth or in sky. Snow meant snow hordes. Snow Abbeys or simply forts, if the yard's drifts had been picked clean. Snow meant snowball fights with the other Dibbun gangs: the snot-licking DAB, backbiting Marrow's Horde, or even those snivelly chalk-biters that ofttimes just huddled together outside the library windows - they hadn't earned a name, but they had their uses...

Snow also meant softer landings. And it melted away any evidence of ice-ball-throwing or snowbank-dunking. Useful when you're keeping the other Mottlewhelps in line.

Which was the job of the oldest. He knew that much from looking about at the other abbey kids, the short time they'd been here.

It wasn't winter that brought the disapproving stares and whispers in the cloisters. Some winters they stayed outside the redstone cage, in the _real_ Nest, just down the road. It was the _cold_that trapped them here.

It slurped him downward, this cold. Making his shoulders hunch against the chill, despite the nice cloth-thing Ma had gotten off of the snobby cat. It made him feel old. But not good-old. The kind of old that gets you into the cellars. It was bad-old, the kind that leaves you sitting outside them, the favored spot of the abbey's elders.

And the last thing a young weasel needed was to smell like cedar and talc!

And now this. Jinck pitched his voice high and tossed a paw around, his lips curled into a sneer. "Go look for any other dibbuns, bleh bleh." It dropped a fraction in tone, to its usual adolescent tenor. "It's a _horde_, mother. I doubt they're carryin' about a nursery on their backs. I mean, what would it be? Vomit 'n rattles, in ranks! Fire!"

His sniggers echoed about him deliciously, creating a chorus of chittering Jinck. It filled the orchard, and was a newly made quince tart to the stray dibbuns he was sent to harvest, its essence drawing them.

The weasel grinned to himself, then settled back against a pear sapling, shifting his weight onto its bent whipcord trunk. He reveled in the weightlessness of it, the feeling of another holding him up - he always had. Too bad he was almost too big for flights anymore.

_Shhrunck._

The first one arrived, nearly sinking into a drift between the rows, the frozen-topped snow offering a throaty objection to the mass above it. It was a ratly ball of sniffling handkerchiefs, and seemed more ill-at-ease than the lace clutched to his snout. Another came, soon enough, and another. Soon, a half-dozen urchins ringed the reclined redtooth.

_And there's the key. Sitting back, holding in. Keep those breaths shallow and relaxed. Let one of them speak, first. Mention Ma to those vole twins, but not to the ferret kit. Oh, Fates, my tail is - no. Don't slip. Just tense up that belly and ge?_

"Are... were you... we heard -" The mousebabe had only a moment to mumble a mouthful of greeting before Jinck's paw shot out.

"_Squeak!_" The mouse flopped back, holding his forehead.

_Pumph._Next to him, a fat hickory nut plopped into the snow.

"_Arghleggo!_" Jinck gazed through slitted eyes at the volepile that formed next to the fallen beast. Both twins had fallen over themselves for the missile.

Jinck let the melee continue for a moment before springing forward, letting the tree propel him into an bowstring-sent arrow of fluff. He tackled the twins with a fierce roar, sending them tufted-tail over pricked ear. "'Ey now! I tossed that to th' lad, 'ere. Not you lot!"

The clearing settled into a tense detente. Jinck waited a few more beats for hackles to lower just that fraction.

_Back on their heels, but not tipped over..._

He reached a paw down to the mouse and offered his best rakish grin, but taking care to keep his lips closed. "Sorry 'bout that lad, but you looked like you could use a bite."

"I... I don't... I mean... please don't bite -"

Jinck pulled up the rodent by his sleeve and began to dust the snow off his front. "I know, lad, it's a bit overwhelmin'. Everythin' big is. But let me tell ye', we've got a stash larger than one o' them great, whoppin' colored windows, full o' everythin' ye' could need. And by the look of ye', you need plenty."

The final of the six beasts, a hogbabe, piped up, "Who's 'we'?"

Jinck reached down to pat the spiked head, but paused, reached his hand back and flicked a spike instead. "Let me tell you, Thistletop, about the best band of beasts in the ol' 'Bee."

All right, so the day hadn't been completely ruined. A few stops like that, and he'd gotten a handful of Downies - as mum sometimes called them. One even had a nice pair of gloves on - he'd nicked 'em in a trade for a plum - he thought they'd be a nice midwinter gift for Viv. They even matched the scarf he'd gotten for her earlier! Her claws got colder than a badgermum's scolding when she went out on patrols. He just had to do something about the tips.

The fur on the backs of his arms began to tingle.

It wasn't a breeze; for all of this winter's bluster, it appeared to be recouping itself for the moment and the Abbey was still. It wasn't a passing insect or shiver. It was one pair of eyes shadowing him, piggybacking their way along his path.

It made Jinck smile; he was noticed.

"If'n ye' want a word, just ask," he called out.

Apparently, he was being followed by a clearing throat.

"Or jus' come out. That works, too."

The beast emerged from where he was pressed against the walls. It was another vole, but this one was older. Bigger wasn't the right term, since your eyes just slid off of him; he blended.

_And his eyes. They're like bees in a garden. Darting, quick, efficient. He's a bit old, but..._

"I was wondering..." the vole began, his voice slithering into Jinck's ear like a tentative worm, nosing at gravel over its hole, "what you all were talking about out there."

Jinck flashed his teeth. "Let me tell you, my ancient Ancient, 'bout a certain lady bird..."

The weasel could feel a second pair of eyes on him, but he ignored them.

_One at a time. He who hunts two birds at once will lose them both._


	30. 27: Somebody's Catching On

**Chapter 27. Somebody's Catching On**

_by Kapler_

_Sit back, relax and try to close my eyes_

_Think how I'm gonna make it through_

_With my disguise-_ Rock Kills Kid, Don't Want to Stay

"Mottlefeather."

What a weird name. Mottlefeather mottlefeather mottlefeather. Kapler had just had the most peculiar conversation. His tailing Jinck had been largely out of curiosity, but his talk with Vivienne - something else entirely.

He had seen the wren flitting in, out and around the Abbey. Of all her possible occupations, den mother never crossed Kapler's mind. But it fit her, beak to claw. And her little Mottlefeathers absolutely adored her, scurrying up to show off a recent acquisition or for a pat on the head.

A bead of jealousy formed in his gut - the discovery of something he never knew he wanted. If he could have taken it, hidden it in his pocket, he would have. This Vivienne didn't quite seem the type to be put out by Kapler's little habit. And she wanted him in. A responsible older chap to act as a role model.

He excused himself; such a decision bore pondering, after all. And he did have other things to attend to, experiments Russel wanted him to tend to, books Russel wanted him to search out. The doctor still trusted him, and Kapler didn't want to let him down.

But for now, he was hungry.

Which was not a good thing, or even a convenient thing, because the line for food wound all through the Great Hall, an ocean of roaring, squabbling fur.

With all their provisions safely entrenched at their camp, the Red Fire Army had no choice but to mingle with those they had recently been trying to conquer.

There was still a smoldering animosity, an implicit distrust, in the exchanged glances between the residents of Redwall and the rescued invaders. But things were different now. Atop all the mistrust, smothering it to a dull roar, was fear. Universal fear.

And above that was a feeling of camaraderie, one of those "we're all in the same boat" feelings. Shared terror bred friendship, albeit a friendship spiderwebbed with fragility and cracks - a medley of creatures now grudging companions by way of that monster outside.

And still Kapler felt outside it all. Between the stranger-fed suspicion from the native Redwallers and loathing from the Red Fire Army, he found it safest to keep by Russel's side.

But now Russel was gone, out on a mission to save dibbuns from the very creature that had created this stilted situation.

Threading his way through the rabble, Kapler stopped in the doorway to the kitchens and stared, at odds with the bustling currents. The smells. Oh heaven, the smells! One would never know the larders were low the way the kitchens were getting on. Aromas wafted this way and that, enticing and delicious.

Maybe he'd just swipe a bite off one of the counters. If anybeast asked him, he could just plead Doctor Song. That oughta work. He was just reaching a paw towards a loaf of warm bread when-

"Hey, weren't you in here yesterday?"

A familiar chill settled down Kapler's back. He had been in the kitchens yesterday; he tried to remember if he had taken anything. In the mean while, an apron-bedecked hedgehog, spikes haphazard with hurry, motioned to Kapler.

"Still want to help?"

"Uh..."

"Good! Here!"

A tray laden with earthenware mugs and steaming pastries was shoved into his paws. "For Moonshot."

Kapler teetered from the unexpected tray, recovered, and nearly toppled over as he realized who the food was intended for. A scone tumbled to the floor.

"Oy! Watch it! No repeats of yesterday, y'hear? Ain't many more where these came from." The chef gave the scone a light brushing off, shrugged, and set it back on the tray. "Doubt those vermin will notice."

"But Moonshot!"

"I know! Waste of food, if you ask me, but Abbot Cloverleaf thinks we should send some o' our best pastries to the leader of that rabble. Says we're all stuck together, might as well get along."

Kapler swallowed. "But why me?"

The hedgehog shrugged, already turning away. "No one else wants to do it!"

As Kapler trudged across the grounds, he slipped a scone into a coat pocket. One missing scone would not be missed. Kapler's stomach growled. They won't miss two, either. Covetous eyes watched Kapler's progress through the Red Fire camp. Kapler very nearly bolted when two scruffy ferrets swaggered towards him, but one mention of Moonshot sent them hastily wheeling away. The vole halted in front of the largest tent he could find. A dozy rat stood guard.

Kapler swallowed. "Excuse me. This-is this Lord Moonshot's tent?"

The guard glanced at Kapler and spit on the snow. "What's it t'yeh, woodlander?"

"I, er, brought lunch."

"Lunch, eh?" Reaching towards the tray, the guard seemed to think better of it. He rapped on the tent post.

The tent flap flew open. Kapler stared into the most savage eyes he had ever seen. They glowed with a subdued malice that nearly made Kapler drop the tray. So this was Cromley.

"Who is it?" A voice from within the tent.

The cat smiled a smile that almost wasn't. "Lunch."

"Ah! Bring it in!"

Knuckles twisting beneath his fur and ears flat to his head, Kapler did as bid. The tent flap slipped closed behind him. No escape.

It was stupidly warm in the tent; the kind of heat and stuffiness that comes from overcompensation against winter cold. It did nothing to calm the vole - only made it hard to think.

"And who are you, then?" The friendliest weasel Kapler could ever remember seeing sat behind a cluttered desk, face placid.

"Uh, Kapler, sir." Was this really Moonshot? Leader of a savage horde? "Lunch compliments of the Abbot."

"Ah, how lovely! Lay it out, won't you, Kapler?"

"I-okay." He settled the tray onto the desk. This wasn't so bad.

"Finally some manners! And this food looks fantastic." Sampling a studded cheese, Moonshot smiled. "Yes, my compliments to-What's that? Now now, be nice. He's been very polite, serving us." Moonshot appeared to be crooning to a rock. A pretty rock, yes, and one that Kapler would not have minded having in his pocket, but still a rock. Kapler tried to ignore the babbling, but found it an impossible feat. "Yes, my darling, they'll all be serving us soon."

Kapler nearly dropped a mug, earning a growl from Cromley. Maybe it'd be better to pay attention.

"Soon all my lovelies will have a home in this darling place. Eh?" Moonshot leaned in close to the rock, eyes scrunched in concentration.

Kapler's ear twitched. More rocks? Wonder how many? Surely wouldn't miss a pawful.

"Yes, the plans are being drawn up as we speak. In fact-"

"My lord!" Cromley's hackles loomed over his neck. He banged the tabletop to interrupt Moonshot, but it was a warning too late.

In the process of pouring tea, Kapler's gaze slipped to the paper-covered desk, realization overflowing like the tea in the mug. "Augh!" He swept a panicked arm across the table, scattering papers and dropping the entire teapot.

Moonshot gasped. "What a waste!"

"Imbecile!" Cromley leapt to the desk and hurled the half-empty teapot across the tent. It presumably shattered in some shadowy corner, but Kapler was more focused on the wildcat stalking towards him. "Fool! Do you realize what you've done?"

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" He scrambled backwards, into the wet pile of papers, mussing them further. I'm dead, I'm dead I died I'm dead. Kapler cringed against blows that didn't come. Half-squinting, he watched Cromley focusing on the table. Kapler felt an advantage brewing in his favor. If it was going to be another blunder, it might as well be a useful blunder. He ignored the bile taste on his tongue and, with a deftness borne of lifelong compulsion, slipped a thick stack of parchment beneath the flap of his satchel before returning the rest. "Accident." He quailed away from the monstrous snarl.

"Out. Be thankful we're still inside your precious abbey, filth." Cromley paced up and down the length of the table, whipping tail nearly mussing the contents further.

Kapler's rush to exit left him at a momentary loss to find the tent flap, but soon he was back in the freezing air. He reveled as it ruffled through his fur, wicking away the cloying tent odor and the stress of what just happened.

A ferret wearing, of all things, a beret, sauntered towards the tent. "Oy! What are you doing here, woodlander?" The words seemed torn from his mouth, as if it was an irreparable waste to speak to the vole.

"Oh, uh, nothing! I was just leaving." Kapler swept wide and skittered past, his pulse calming as he tromped a hasty retreat through the Red Fire encampment. Did it. I did it! I'm alive. It was not until he was well-clear that he retrieved his latest acquisition.

The stack was thick and smelled of tea and ink. Faint wisps of steam wafted upwards, an imitation of heat that warmed nothing. He tried to examine the first page, but it was little more than a mess of smears.

Useless. The word flitted through Kapler's thoughts, but he ignored it in favor of riffling, seeking out anything of value. What's this? In the middle of the stack was a small notebook, elegant and ornate, bound by clasp. Looks promising. After a quick glance around and a moment of fiddling, it flopped open in his paws, revealing the watery script within.

_Day 73_

_Continued sedation of Project Brimstone. Twenty-four days since surgery. Subject exhibits near-complete physical acceptance of sinister metacarpal exoskeletal graft. Minor rashes and swelling evident, as expected. More ointment needed. Assign to Agatha._

Kapler almost dropped the book. He did drop the stack of parchment, the many sheaves collapsing in a heap at his feet, but he ignored them - trivial in light of this new discovery. What madness is this? A claw under the page flipped it to the next one.

_Day 89_

_Forty days since surgery. Subject exhibits total physical acceptance of initial skin graft. Swelling negligible. Continuation of Project feasible. Will-_

"What've ya got there?"

Kapler nearly jumped out of his fur. With steps as purposeful as Cromley's, and nearly as frightening, Vidya swept up to Kapler, the vole's panicked attempts to stuff the journal into his pocket foiled. "This yars, then." Not a question. Just flat disbelief as Vidya turned away to examine the journal. Kapler's grabs were easily brushed off.

Blood rushed through Kapler's veins. It ran too thick, too hot, heating his skin uncomfortably beneath his fur. He blurted the first excuse that stumbled onto his tongue. "I-it's for Doctor Song."

"I'm sure."

She eyed Kapler's bag. "What else 'ave ya got in that knapsack of yars?"

It was Kapler now who spun around, clutching his satchel. "Not more books." His lips lifted in the beginnings of a snarl. "Nothing that isn't mine."

Clearly skeptical, Vidya said no more and turned back to the journal. After several page turns, she clapped the book closed. "Tandava, watch th' camp! Come on, Master Lightpaw. We're takin' these t'th' Abbot."

"I'm not-" But Kapler's words hung useless in the chill air. Vidya already bounded towards the abbey building, her confident gait carving a swathe across the snowy grounds. With little other choice, he gathered the papers from the snow, shoved them into a pocket, and set off after her.

_I hope she trips._


	31. 28: The True Beginning of Our End

**Chapter 28. The True Beginning of Our End**

_by Avery_

Avery bit his lip. "Are you certain you're all right, Miss Whortle?"

"Yes," came the terse reply.

Avery watched the stoat nurse wrap Skanza's sprained footpaw in bandages. The major had refused to be treated by the woodlanders, a decision Avery supported wholeheartedly. Who knew what kinds of primitive horrors they might inflict on her?

"Oh, good, I'm glad to hear it," he said, faltering for a moment. "Er, Major, marm, I just had one teeny, tiny, little quibble about the bunking situation. I don't have a tent."

Skanza's wince morphed into a growl. "Pure nonsense, Captain Selwyn. I assigned you to a tent myself."

Avery twisted the fringes of his scarf in his paws. "Ah, see, therein lies the problem. You seem to have assigned several _other_ beasts to my tent as well."

"Oh dear, life must be so hard for you," Skanza said flatly. "Tent shortage, captain. In case you hadn't noticed, only about half of us made it past that badger. Vulpuz knows where the bulk of our supplies are now."

"So there's definitely no—"

"_Tent. Shortage."_

"Right. Swartt's teeth, what a mess we've gotten ourselves into." Avery slumped down on an empty cot, his face in his paws. "I'm all for Moonshot taking this abbey, but I didn't think we'd have to actually _live_ with these boors. It's unbearable."

"It's a temporary setback," Skanza snapped. "Moonshot won't give up, and neither will I. And neither will you, if you know what's good for you."

"Captain Selwyn? Moonshot would like a word."

Avery stood up as a rat peered into the tent and beckoned him to follow. The ferret turned to the stoat healer. "Sorry about your friend deserting. He seemed a decent enough chap."

She snorted. "Sage was no friend of mine, but thank you."

Avery excused himself and followed the soldier from the healer's tent, vaguely wondering if Moonshot had received word of his performance in the battle and was planning on demoting him. The ferret didn't think he'd mind all that much if that was the case. The thrashing followed by the pitiful retreat had only served to remind Avery just why he hadn't followed in his father's pawsteps. While ordering beasts around was amusing, combat was hard work.

"Ah, Captain Selwyn, good, good, come in." Moonshot looked up from his current plaything, a polished red stone.

Only one beast living in _this_ tent, Avery noticed with a bitter stab of jealousy. At least, he assumed Cromley had his own quarters. That cat gave him the willies. He doubted even Moonshot could stand to have him as a roommate.

"What happened in here?" One of the ferret's eyebrows snaked upward.

"None of your concern." Cromley shuffled scattered papers back into order, not even bothering to look up.

"Was it that vole?" Avery asked. "I'll bet it was. You can't trust woodlanders to do anything right, even when their entire lives are given to servitude. Sometimes I don't know why we even bother keeping any of them alive."

"Hmm, they do make a decent scone, though, I have to admit," Moonshot said between bites. Cromley moved to mop up a puddle of tea on the weasel chieftain's desk. Avery swallowed. If he was going to be demoted, he might as well get it over with.

"Well, I'm sure we're not here to discuss the quality of scones. I heard you wanted to see me, Sir?"

Moonshot neatly folded his serviette and carefully nested the red stone upon it. "Sorry, my dear, I'm afraid we'll have to continue this later. Yes, Captain Selwyn, I have an important job and I think you'd be the perfect beast for it."

"Sir?" Both brows shot upward this time.

"Yes, I am still a sir, last I checked. Please don't interrupt me with your obvious observations. I'd rather not keep him waiting too long; he would think it most inconsiderate, I expect." The last statement was a loud whisper. Moonshot jerked his head in the direction of the stone.

Avery nodded slowly. "Er, yes...Yes, that would certainly be impolite, Sir. Forgive me."

Moonshot beamed. "Well, I certainly appreciate your understanding! Master Cromley here is constantly interrupting us, and his apologies are always so deplorably insincere."

The cat looked up briefly from his custodial work, a scowl on his face.

The weasel continued, "So, Captain Selwyn, I know your father to be very good at gleaning information from creatures. Usually by torture, though I seem to recall he was always the persuasive type. I trust you both share this trait as much as your devotion to the military.

"As you probably know by now, only around a hundred of our troops have breached the abbey walls; definitely not enough beasts to go about flat out demanding the woodlanders give us the abbey and kindly go sod off forever. As nice as it would be to avoid dirtying our paws, of course. Blood can be a dickens of a thing to wash out. I can't help but notice that we're not the first of our kind to arrive here. There are others. A big family of foxes, for a start. This could be to our advantage, you see. I'd like you to go and test the waters, as it were. Find out roughly how many non-woodlanders have taken shelter here, and how many might be willing to fight under the Red Fire flag, should the situation arise. Which it will before too long, I'm sure. Can you do this?"

"I—yes, Sir. I'm to go into the abbey...amongst all of the woodlanders." Avery suppressed a shudder at the thought. Perhaps being demoted would have been better.

"Yes, yes, naturally you'll need to keep this as quiet as possible. Mum's the word and all that. Ah!" Francis clapped his paws delightedly. "I just had a most splendid idea! Why not take that other new captain along with you, that hare? He'll help you blend in perfectly."

Verily, demotion would have been better.

"_No!"_ Avery shouted, then politely coughed. "Ahah. I mean, are you certain that's a good idea, Sir?"

"Of course it's a good idea! I'm actually quite glad now that I didn't have that hare gutted like a fish. He can gain access to all kinds of places in there that we can't. Yes, yes, this is all perfect. Perfectly perfect perfection! Unless you're telling me my plan isn't perfect?"

Moonshot's tone was light, but Avery sensed the underlying threat and chose his next words carefully. "I'm just not entirely sure we can trust him, Sir."

"Really? Even though he helped recover the very necklace you gave to me? That seems a bit odd."

"Well, Sir, call me old-fashioned, but I've always believed that a woodlander is a woodlander is a woodlander. I guess it's just the way I was raised. My father believes much the same."

That did it, Avery could tell. At the mention of Eurig Selwyn, Francis' brow furrowed and he stroked his chin fur. "Well, I see no reason to doubt the blighter, but if you have doubts, I trust your judgment. If he goes soft amongst all these woodlanders, well, I believe you know how to deal with him."

A sinister smile crept over the ferret's muzzle. "It would be my pleasure, Sir."

* * *

The ferret had a definite spring in his step as he and Bartolomeo entered the main abbey building together.

"You certainly seem happy about something, old chap," said the hare.

Avery winked. "Certainly am."

"Care to share?"

"Oh no, this one is private, I'm afraid. You'll find out soon enough, though, I suspect."

Bartolomeo shrugged. "Whatever floats your galleon, laddie."

His enthusiasm waned a bit when they reached a great, high-ceilinged room crawling with woodlanders. Some sat at the long tables, talking and guffawing and sipping drinks, others played what looked to be primitive games. Every way his head turned there were woodlanders, woodlanders, and more woodlanders.

"Yeah, I can't do this."

Bartolomeo caught the back of his vest and hauled him back. "Yes y'can. They're not going to bite, no matter how hungry they get."

"Easy for you to say!" Avery snorted. "You're practically one of them."

"Not really, old chap." Bartolomeo gave him a little push. "Now move."

Avery whirled to face the hare. "Oy, you can't order me around anymore! I'm a captain!"

"So am I, lad."

"But...I still outrank you!"

"_What?_ How d'you figure?"

Avery sneered. "Isn't it obvious?"

The hare sighed, rolling his eyes. "No, it isn't. And you won't be a captain much longer if you don't follow Moonshot's orders. Or would you like me to go tell him how you're frightened of a bunch of unarmed woodlanders?"

"Not frightened!" Avery corrected. "Just nauseated."

The ferret took a deep breath and plunged over the threshold. The odd pair made their way through the crowd, pausing to chat with any vermin they encountered. It wasn't as bad as he was expecting; the woodlanders didn't hassle him because of his companion. Avery took note of every beast they talked to in the journal Moonshot had given him. To anybeast that asked, he simply told them he was an avid playwright working on his next play. By the time they made a full circuit of the hall and reached the doors, Avery had nearly filled up two pages.

"I count about a score and a half in this room alone. Where to next?"

Bartolomeo shrugged. "Not sure. Shall we try upstairs?"

They made their way upward, peeking into various rooms and apologizing when they accidentally walked in on a squirrel changing his clothing. Eventually they arrived at a room full of occupied beds and beasts in green habits rushing about tending to them.

"Ah, the infirmary," said Bart. "We might find something useful here."

"Isn't that Solgrim over there?"

Avery realized how stupid his question sounded. Exactly how many other buzzards did the abbey hold? They walked over to where he perched on a bed, as a haremaid and a squirrelmaid tentatively changed the dressing on his wing. Then Avery remembered Brooketail's pleading to be let out to find his son, how Solgrim took off with an eerie shriek, and how only the son and Solgrim returned through the abbey doors.

"Solgrim, er...sorry about Brooketail," Avery said, unable to think of anything else. "At least you got his son back safely though."

"I could've done more," Solgrim snapped, his voice breaking with pain. "I _should_ have done more."

"Look, don't beat yourself up over it. That badger is invin—"

"He isn't invincible! All beasts have a weakness. I _will_ find his."

There was such a fiery determination blazing in the buzzard's eyes that Avery felt it was pointless to argue any further about the matter. "Of course you will."

He turned to Bart and murmured, "That's one egg that sure got scrambled, eh?"

The hare didn't respond. He was staring at the haremaid tending to Solgrim.

"What is it? Do you know her?" he asked.

Bart grinned. "Ding _dong_, wot."

Avery looked from one hare to the other, realization dawning. "Oh, now I'm really nauseated."

"If you'll excuse me," Bart said, patting Avery on the shoulder, his eyes still fixed on his prize, "this chap's got some introducing to do."

"But, Moonshot!"

"I'll get back to you," Bart said vaguely, waving the ferret away.

Avery scowled in disgust. Stupid hare, acting like an idiot just because of some stupid female.

He was glad that he, at least, was above all that.

* * *

After a few more encounters and a few more notes in his journal, the ferret returned to the snowy grounds. He thought he might report to Moonshot what he'd gathered so far when he noticed a curious sight. The vole he'd seen snooping around Moonshot's tent earlier was being led across the grounds by a young weasel Avery hadn't seen before. Intrigued, the ferret followed them at a distance, doing his best not to make too much noise—a difficult feat in deep snow.

He followed them around the corner of the abbey building to what looked like an orchard. The barren trees raised jagged, spindly branches to the sky, as if silently pleading for the harsh winter to be over. Avery soon realized that although the trees were dead asleep for the winter, the orchard still teemed with life. He darted behind a tree and watched as the weasel led the vole to some small, brown bird—a wren, he thought it might be. Avery couldn't quite make out the words being exchanged, but from the body language, the bird didn't seem to be terribly happy with the weasel. She shook her head and clacked her beak. After a few more words, she offered a heavy sigh and a conciliatory wing. Then she turned to the vole and nodded, looking decidedly more pleased to see him. Every once in a while various creatures, some vermin, some woodlander, most of them younger than the weasel, would run up to the wren. She would chirp at them, and then they would take off again.

This was easily the most unusual thing Avery had seen since their arrival. Who was this bird, and why did she seem to be ordering young ones around? Why was the weasel even bothering with her, or the vole? Avery had to find out. It could be something important, some detail that Moonshot could take advantage of.

A short while later, the weasel walked away from the bird, looking dejected. When he passed Avery, the ferret walked out from behind the tree.

"Why have ye' been followin' me?" the weasel demanded without turning.

_Observant little whelp, isn't he?_ "I was going to say hello, of course. But then I saw you talking to that vole and that succulent little bird, and it rather stopped me in my tracks, you see."

"'Succulent?' She ain't a plant, ferret." The weasel faced Avery, frowning.

Avery thought it best to change tactics. "I just mean that I've never known a weasel to associate himself with a vole and a wren."

The weasel looked resolute. "Yeah? Well, ye' ain't from here."

Avery shrugged. "Fair enough. What is your name?"

"Jinck."

"Jinck. I'm Avery, a captain in the Red Fire Army." He offered a paw.

The weasel shook it, still looking rather leery of him. His reply came out in a well-rehearsed monotone of young ones everywhere, "Nice t' meet ye'."

Avery shook his head, frowning sadly. "That bird didn't seem too happy with you, Jinck. That's too bad."

"Her name is Miz Viv, not 'that bird'! Vivienne, to ye'." Jinck rubbed at the back of his neck. "Sorry, Avery, I don't mean t' be rude, but she ain't just some bird to a lot of us."

_Why would anybeast take orders from food?_ Avery wanted to ask, but he was on thin ice with the strange weasel already. "Really, now? That's very interesting. I'd love to learn more about that sometime."

Jinck was quiet for a moment. "Maybe. Er, Avery?"

"Yes, Jinck?"

The young weasel's ears pricked forward. "What was it like, fighting that badger?"

Finally, an opportunity. Avery straightened up and puffed out his narrow chest, folding his paws across it. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. You know, I was on the front lines with the beast. I'll never forget the giant's roar, the way he swept across the battlefield and turned friends and comrades into mincemeat."

Jinck's mouth had fallen open slightly. He shut it quickly and cleared his throat. "Cor. That sounds...Tell me more?"

It was time to go. Always leave the audience wanting more. "Maybe some other time. I have things to do. Maybe we can talk more tomorrow?"

"Yeah! I mean, I s'pose that'd be all right. See ye'."

Avery watched the weasel scurry off. He'd have to keep an eye on him. Moonshot might find him useful.


	32. 29: Like Father, Like Son?

**Chapter 29. Like Father, Like Son?**

_by Bartolomeo_

_By all that's marvellous! A bevy of beautiful maidens!_

Bart had totally lost interest in Avery and his errand for Moonshot. Waving the ferret away, he strode across the infirmary towards the haremaid that had caught his eye. He'd met ladies before, of course, but this was totally different from the usual tavern wenches that seemed to crawl out of the woodwork whenever his ship had come into a friendly harbour. She was tall, even managing to be elegant while wearing the simple robes of the Redwall Sisters.

The haremaid smiled as he approached. "Can I assist you with anything, sir?" she asked. "If you are injured, we will do our best to find you a bed, but as you can imagine, we're quite full at the moment.?"

"Injured? Err- no, no I'm not." Bart was stunned to discover that he had no idea what he wanted to say next. "I just spotted you across the room, and I, well, I wanted to introduce myself, don't you know."

She smiled again. "I didn't think I'd seen you around the Abbey before, Mr-?"

"Oh, of course." Bart couldn't help blushing slightly. "Can't really introduce myself without telling you my name, eh wot! Cap'n Bartolomeo at your service."

The corsair gave a deep bow, which the Abbey Sister returned with a gentle curtsey. "Rosemary Stanley-Fortescue at yours," she replied. "Tell me, Captain, this is a picturesque uniform, but I'm not familiar with it. Who do you serve under in the Long Patrol?"

"Long Patrol?" Bart was momentarily puzzled. "Oh yes, I've heard of them. Lurk around Salamandastron. Wouldn't go within ten leagues of that place, far too dangerous, wot!"

Now it was Rosemary's turn to look puzzled. "Why, whatever do you mean?" she asked. "Salamandastron's possibly the single safest place for a hare to be!"

"Is that right? Wouldn't really know myself, I'm- not from around these parts."

Rosemary cocked an eyebrow. "I would never have guessed, Captain. You're a curious one, to be sure." She turned to one of the other Sisters. "Could you finish with this wing? I have to check that this Red Fire healer has enough supplies. Perhaps you could accompany me, Captain?"

Bart, who'd been feeling something of a buffoon, leapt at the chance. "Of course, Madam! I'd be honoured to accompany you."

She smiled again as she headed for the door. "Please, Captain, call me Rosemary."

"You can call me Bart, wot-wot!"

Bart grinned and bounded after her. It didn't take long to catch up with Rosemary in the corridor. The pair exchanged pleasantries as they made their way down to the courtyard. As they stepped outside, the raucous noise of the Red Fire vermin shattered the Abbey's usual calm. There were groups of the Red Fire soldiers everywhere, many clustered around the tent taken over by the army's new Doctor. A line of wounded beasts lay unconscious outside the tent, though Bart quickly noticed a pair of rats furtively going through the unfortunate beasts' pockets.

"'Ere, look at that!"

Bart's attention was drawn by a familiar cry. Skrimjaw bounded up, a wicked grin on his face.

"So, the Cap'n's gone and found 'imself a wench, eh? You wait until the others get wind of this!"

Rosemary looked shocked. "Bart, you know these vermin?"

"Know us!" Skrimjaw guffawed, affecting Bart's mannerisms.

"He's our glorious commander, don't-you-know-and-all-that! Finest bally corsair ever to put to sea!"

Laughing uproariously, Skrimjaw staggered away in search of Kamargo and the other corsairs. Rosemary turned a confused eye to Bart.

"A corsair? I don't understand, how could you fall into a life like that?"

Bart sighed. "It's a long story, and I'm afraid it's rather vague. I was pretty young at the time, don't you know?"

_The air was rent with shrieks, and the roaring of burning buildings as the corsairs spread through the unfortunate harbour village._

"_Give 'em no quarter, lads! Take all ye can carry!" roared the corsair chieftain, a burly ferret dressed in thick leather armour and wearing a deadly spiked helmet._

"_Cap'n Charrfang! There's a few still holding out in the tavern," one of the corsairs rushed up to his leader and saluted quickly. "Rotgut reckons we'll flush 'em out before dawn."_

"_These 'ere woodlanders ain't bein' very 'ospitable, are they?" Charrfang gave a vicious grin, yellowing fangs baring into a snarl. "Let's go pay 'em a visit!"_

_Inside the tavern, it was a scene of chaos. All of the tables and chairs had been thrown up against the door and windows as a makeshift barricade, save one, which was being used by the town's healer for tending the wounded. The surviving handful of the town's defenders manned positions by the windows, bows at the ready to pick off any corsairs that tried to get close. In the backroom, a small band of wives and dibbuns were sheltering in the last place of refuge available._

"_How long do you think we can hold out?" asked the tavern keeper, a mouse by the name of Joseph. "You saw what they did at the jetty!"_

"_Just relax, Joseph, old chap. I've seen scarier beasts the last time little Bart needed bathing!" chuckled the hare at the next window._

"_That's all very well for you to say, Bernadino," Joseph tightened his paws around his bow until the knuckles showed white. "You've seen action before. I can't stand up to a rampaging corsair! If they try and attack us here, they'll sweep us aside without breaking a sweat!"_

_Bernadino frowned. "Now, now, old boy. There's no call for that kind of attitude. A beast who thinks he's going to cop it has a remarkable knack for making it happen. Chin up, there's a good sport! They'll be out of here by morning anyway."_

_He had barely finished speaking when there was a great roar from outside. Joseph shuddered, and peered out through a gap in the barricade._

"_There's the whole stinking crew out there!" he squeaked in alarm. "We've got to get out of here!" Before he could make a break for it, the corsair's leader stepped forwards._

"_Now listen 'ere, maggots!" he shouted towards the tavern. "I've been very lenient with ye, but yer tryin' my patience! Come out o' there with yer paws up, and we'll let ye live!"_

"_Fat chance, old bean!" Bernardino called back. "If you want us, you'll have to come and get us!"_

_Joseph whimpered softly to himself as the beleaguered defenders notched arrows and prepared to shoot. Charrfang drew his cutlass and waved it at the tavern._

"_Kill 'em all!" he howled, the corsairs taking up the bloodcurdling cry as they swarmed up the street. The defenders let loose a volley of arrows, dropping six of the corsairs, but the mass of vermin kept coming. Another volley flew from the windows of the tavern, more vermin fell, but the defenders were too few. Soon the vermin were at the walls, hacking and smashing at the rickety barricade in an effort to break through._

"_It's not going to hold!" screamed Joseph, dropping his bow and scrabbling for anything that would serve as a melee weapon._

"_We'll just have to get our paws dirty then, wot!" Bernardino gave a grim smile as he drew his sabre. The vermin were almost inside now. "We'll give 'em blood and vinegar, eh chaps! Eulaliaaaaaaa!"_

_With a last heave, the barricades gave way and the corsairs swarmed into the tavern. The defenders rushed to meet them, but were quickly pushed back by sheer weight of numbers. Joseph madly flailed a frying pan he'd picked up from the floor, but soon vanished in the mob of vermin. Bernardino dropped several of the first vermin to break through his window, but it wasn't long before even the hare was cornered. His shirt was soaked in blood as he desperately hacked at the vermin who surrounded him, but the number of corsairs was too great. Despite his best efforts, the hare was cut down by the vermin's vicious blades._

_The vermin cheered as Charrfang entered, the chieftain kicking aside the broken body of one of the defenders. "Good work, lads!" he growled, his cruel eyes scouring the room. "Grab the grog and let's be about our business."_

_One of the vermin threw himself against the back room door, splintering the wood and bursting it open to reveal the cowering woodlanders. Charrfang, laughed coldly as he stepped inside. "Well, well, well. Looks like we've got ourselves some new recruits for the oardeck!"_

_Suddenly there was a commotion from the woodlanders, and a young hare, no more than five or six seasons burst forward, brandishing one of the kitchen knives. "You leave us alone!" he shrieked. "You big smelly bully!"_

_Charrfang stepped back in surprise as the knife blade whistled past his stomach. One of the corsairs grabbed the hare by the scruff of the neck and lifted him off the ground, shaking him hard until he dropped the weapon._

"_Want me to gut this one for you, Cap'n?" he snarled at the still struggling young hare, who was doing his best to bite his paw._

_Charrfang thought about it for a moment. "Nah," he decided. "Take the wenches to the oars, but this one's goin' to my cabin. He's goin' t'be me greatest treasure - a legacy!" He spun on his heel and strode out of the room._

"_As for this place," he took a deep breath, savouring the scent of blood and burnt wood, "burn it to the ground."_

"So they brought me on board, and my father, Charrfang that is, raised me."

Rosemary took Bart's paw, her eyes wide. "You poor thing, that must have been terrible for you!"

"Err... must it have been?" Bart was thrown momentarily. "I mean, I don't really remember any of that, all I know is what my father and the crew told me over the years."

"And you've lived with those vermin all your life?"

"Of course," Bart couldn't quite understand why this seemed such an alien concept to Rosemary. "Shouldn't I have?"

"And you've never been with... your own kind since?"

Bart shrugged. "The Bluddseeker's the only home I know. My crew are my 'kind'. I mean, there's beasts here I've never even seen before!" He pointed at a squat beast with black fur and huge claws that happened to be walking past . "You there, old chap! What do they call your lot?"

"Hurr de burr, Oi'm a mole!" the strange beast huffed, pushing past them. They could still hear his grumbling as he vanished around a corner.

The story had taken so long that by now they were almost back to the Infirmary. Just as they were about to enter, the door was thrust open, and the hares were nearly bowled over by a weasel.

"Oh, Jinck, it's you," Rosemary straightened her robe, her mouth pulling tight. "What are you doing charging about like that?"

"It's urgent, miss. It was those ferrets! Seed-brained nutters, they was. Kept asking about their pa…" He trailed off for a moment. When silence met his announcement, he licked his lips and continued. "See, they asked about the wallgates. I never told 'em how t' get out. Honest, I didn't! They musta watched the guards... or gotten some of the army to cover for 'em. They're out, though. Sure as ye both got ears, they slipped out. Oh, and Miss Viv'll have my hide fer it."

"My goodness!" Rosemary gasped in horror. "Is the Abbot sending out a search party?"

"With that great slaverin' beast out?" Jinck blinked at her. "Yer jokin' right? Huh, couldn't pay me a month o' pies t' head out after nobeast." The weasel waited a beat for further questions, then slipped past them, his pace quickening as he reached the corridor's end.

Rosemary grabbed Bart's arm. "Bart, you simply must try and rescue them!"

"Alone? I don't even know them!" Bart protested.

"Oh, but you must! It is your duty to help protect those poor children!"

"As far as I know, my only duty is to my crew, wot?" Rosemary changed tactics. "Captain, you know I'd be most grateful to whoever could rescue those poor, innocent children?"

Bart finally melted. It was something about her eyes... or was it her smile? And maybe, just maybe, if he found that accursed creature, he would be able to have his revenge.

"Oh, all right!" he relented. "I'll go out there, badger and all, and see if I can find the blighters."

"Oh, Bart! Thank you!" Rosemary threw her arms around him, just as Bart noticed one of the other woodlanders hovering nearby. What were the ones with spines called... hedgehogs, or some such thing?

"I do hope I'm not interrupting…?"

Rosemary, who hadn't spotted him coming, started. "Oh, no... not at all. I have my duties to attend to in the Infirmary. Captain, I hope to see you again soon." With a slightly embarrassed smile, she was gone.

Bart wanted to give the hedgehog a piece of his mind, but he never got past opening his mouth.

"A right pleasure indeed to meet you. Doctor Russel Song," he grabbed Bart's paw and enthusiastically shook it. "A pleasure to meet you! I already said that, didn't I? Anyway..."

"Umm... Bart- Cap'n Bartolomeo. Might I ask what you're after, old bean?"

The hedgehog looked about him furtively. "Well, couldn't help but overhear that you're planning on going outside to find those young ones and, you know what? Just so happens, I had the same idea in mind. Well, not exactly the same idea but still. I figure we'd stand a better chance of making it back with air in our lungs and beats in our hearts. Spiffin', as you hares would say, eh?"

Bart scanned the strange hedgehog disbelievingly. "You want to go out there, to go looking for these bally young'uns with a blood crazed killer on the loose?"

"Oh, yes," Russel nodded. "Don't worry, Solgrim's coming too."

"Oh, well. I suppose that makes all the difference then, don't you know."

"Marvellous!" beamed the strange Doctor. "We'll leave at once." He began to walk away in one direction but bounced back and began to walk in the other. "Once I have all of my things. Shouldn't be the work of a moment, wot!" As the woodlander chuckled away at his own joke, Bart couldn't help but wonder just what good this strange fellow was going to be if they happened to encounter that... thing.

It was already getting dark as the trio made their way through the forest. To Bart, it seemed like every move his companions made was accompanied by the sound of a mob of stampeding lubbers fleeing a raid.

"Can't you chaps keep it down?" he hissed, keeping a wary eye out for anything that might turn out to be a vengeful badger.

They paused for a moment, listening out for sounds of their quarry.

"Jinck told us that the young ones would be heading for St Ninian's Church. Beautiful place, I've heard. Never been there, myself. Story goes there was an old one, some bankvole chap-oo had it burned and then, seasons stacked on seasons later, everyone got all nostalgic, thought it might be good to..." he tailed off as he caught the glares of his companions. "We should probably head in that direction."

Bart gripped a paw on the hilt of his cutlass. "Maybe we should split up," he suggested. "At least that way we've got more chances of getting there without blundering into that thing." And I'll have more of a chance to hunt that thing down. This isn't over, not until my blade pierces the bugger's heart.

Russel considered it. "Actually, that's not a bad idea. With all three of us spread out even if we come across him, two of us should make it."

"Shouldn't Solgrim go with you?" Bart tried his best not to sound too demeaning. After all, this eccentric Doctor was holding some sort of crossbow. "He can handle himself in a fight."

Russel glanced between the two. "Yes, all right. I'll go this way with Solgrim, you strike out that way and see what you can find. All being well, we'll meet at St Ninian's. Oh, and, it's dangerous to go alone. Take this!" The hedgehog thrust the crossbow at Bart. Before the corsair could give it back, the pair were already disappearing into the undergrowth.

Muttering to himself about the insanity of woodlanders, Bart crept through the forest. He hadn't gone very far when he suddenly heard something. It sounded like hushed voices. The hare crept forward, pushing aside the low hanging branches. There were the three missing young'uns!

"There you are, you little blighters!"

As Bart stepped into full view, the children, caught by surprise, screamed in shock. It was only a moment before the scream was answered by a deep roar that seemed to shake the forest.

"The monster?" Bart gritted his teeth, then suddenly remembered the children. "Come on, run!" he yelled. "Get to the church, before that thing gets here!"

The children didn't need to be told twice, and in seconds the group were charging through the forest, desperately trying to reach the safety of the church before the monster could catch up...


	33. 30: Nature Teaches Beasts to Know

**Chapter 30. Nature Teaches Beasts to Know Their Friends**

_by Vidya_

Vidya once again sat in the Abbot's study next to a crackling fire. This time, though, they were joined by Kapler, and she was an accepted guest at the Abbey.

"So what is this book that\'s been found, Miss Vidya?" The Abbot flipped through the pages of the journal without reading any of them.

"I 'aven't read much, Sir, but what I did read was about that badger that attacked us. Thought there might be somethin' useful in it. Ya read more of it, Mister Kapler; what's it say?"

"Nothing! That is, well, there was a Project Brimstone and something about grafts..."

Abbot Cloverleaf sat for a moment, scanning the pages of the book. "Well, perhaps we should give it to Doctor Song. Maybe he could understand the experiments that were done on this beast. Where is he, anyways, Kapler? I haven't seen him in a while."

"Um, well, he's... I think he left." The vole stared at a point somewhere on the floor, next to the Abbot's footpaws.

"'e left? What do ya mean, ''e left'?" Vidya leapt out of her chair, almost overturning it. "'e left th' Abbey when that beast is roamin' about?" She advanced on Kapler before stopping herself a little ways from where he sat.

"Well, he said something about wanting to see the badger." Kapler fidgeted with his tunic. "He took a couple of those Red Fire Army fellows with him. I think they went along to find some lost kits."

"Abbot Cloverleaf, we'll 'ave t'go find 'im an' get 'im back 'ere. We need 'im t'read this journal."

"Miss Vidya, you've traveled Mossflower Wood; you know we wouldn't find Doctor Song. We'll have to trust that he will make his way back home."

"Then Mister Kapler 'ere will 'ave t'tell us what this says. It's too fancy for me t'read."

"I don't know what it's saying! Maybe Doctor Song's son... David! Maybe David could help." He paused, still looking at the floor. "I could go get him?"

"Ya will stay right where ya are. I'm not lettin' you leave my sight, vole." The vixen returned to her chair. "Where'd ya get that journal, anyways?"

"Uh.. see, I had to bring lunch to Moonshot, and um... it was on his table." Kapler was avoiding Vidya's gaze, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the discussion was going. "Not like he was using it. Bet he didn't even know he had it!" He gazed at the other two beasts, looking like he was scared of being thrown out.

"Well, Kapler," the Abbot said, "I hope this doesn't cause problems between Mr. Moonshot and our Abbey. Things are certainly tense enough. Perhaps we can find a solution by working with him."

Once again, Vidya jumped out of her chair. "Of course this is goin' t'cause problems with 'im, Abbot! Mister Kapler stole that journal from 'is tent!"

"But... I didn't mean... he was talking to some rock about taking over the Abbey! What about that?" This time it was Kapler that leapt out of his chair.

As soon as he was done talking, Kapler realized that Vidya and the Abbot were staring at him. He quickly sat back down and tried to look as small as possible.

"Take over the Abbey," Abbot Cloverleaf said slowly, to no beast in particular. "He still wants to take it over after everything that has happened."

"'e was talkin' t' a rock? We can't trust a word out of yar mouth."

"Well, he was. Abbot, I really can't help any more. Doctor Song asked me to look after some things. Do you mind if I go?" The vole stood up and began to move towards the door.

"No, no. I have a lot to think about, Mister Kapler." The Abbot waved him away, lost in thought.

Vidya also stood up and strode across the room. "Where are ya goin', Mister Kapler?"

"The orchard." He shifted the weight of his sack and sidled out the door onto the stairwell. "I need to talk to somebeast."

"Th' orchard? My tents are over there. I'll walk with ya," Vidya answered as she followed him down the stairs and into the hallway.

"Really, Miss Vidya, you don't have to."

"But, ya see, I do. I don't trust ya at all, Mister Kapler, an' I'm goin' t'watch ya until I know what ya're up to."

Kapler hung his head and continued out the Abbey's front door. Vidya followed at his side.


	34. 31: Which They Can Hear Who Meddle

**Chapter 31. Which They Can Hear Who Meddle Not with Crime**

_by Vivienne_

_Twenty-two…_

Viv nestled herself into a soft afternoon brood in the orchard. She was not a bird given much to introspection, but the sunlight was warming the scarf around her neck and settling her ever-flitting mind. That, and the meager warmth had begun to loosen winter's hold on the Abbey, softening the frost-locked drifts; autumn-dropped fruit that had frozen began to release old, fermented scents. It was as if the snow had condensed the essence of fall, releasing the soothing scents of cider.

Even the shouts of her brood were soothing. She had relented, allowing those scheduled for kitchen cleaning and scraps duty to join their peers in winter romping. Their screams joined those of the other abbeybabes, whose harmonizing war cries heralded a snow war as the game of the day.

Twenty-two. Not counting Jinck. When did it get to this? To something other than a family?

It started when they decided it was a "better" idea to fling rocks at some trounced-up weasel and his cronies instead of sitting behind a parapet and letting them wear themselves out. The bird's brow-ridge knitted at the internal dialogue.

And another half-dozen babes learn to live with only one set of paws to hold theirs.

Or talons.

Or talons. Or claws. Or digging claws. Any and all, right?

Well, when it's time to push them out…

"I said I'm comin' with ya'."

Vivienne welcomed the unwelcome voice, grateful at the grating intruder to her solitude. You can always tell a bird by their song. Grating on their ear: a grackle. Something too clever for its own beak. That comes in packs. That too often tries to muscle you out of your nest.

A second voice joined in, a softer companion. "But she told me to come alone, miss Vidya."

"I'll deal with 'er, then."

"But wouldn't it be -"

"Ya have t'go find th' doctor's son after, right?" Vidya asked.

"Well..."

"I'll take care of it."

Vivienne kept silent, let the dynamic wash over her - a noisy horn drowning out a fiddle. But she knew which instrument was better-loved.

There. A few wingbeats to the left. Let them get a tree closer and -

"I hope, Mister Kapler, that it was your gentlemanly demeanor that encouraged you to bring the fair gypsy lady along - on the way to check up on her carts for the fifth time today, I imagine."

"Now, wait a -" Vidya began.

The wren opened one eye and caught sight of the crestfallen whiskers on her newest charge. Her tone brightened as she spoke over the sputtering vixen. "Of course it was. Always been nothing but courteous, right?"

"Y- yes, ma'am."

"Now ya wait just a minute." The fox advanced on Viv's tree, eyes narrowed. "'e's on another errand, Miss Viv, so ya're goin' t'ave t'old yar tailfeathers."

"Or you, your brush." Viv smiled wide, swinging her body down to bring her beak feather-widths from the vixen's snout. "I saw him first, Vidya. The abbot can wait; he's probably already forgotten what he was supposed to wait for, after all. Unless it's a fresh scone or an early Loamhedge text that needs examining, he tends to lose focus."

The vixen gritted her teeth.

"Go on. I'll make sure he doesn't get lost. Why, you can even sit outside my nest and make sure he doesn't slip off, if you like. There's a lovely view of a bush and some weeds."

The vixen's eyes lit up at that, and she let her own muzzle break into a smile. She waved away the bird's comment, clearing a space between them for her own retort. "An' 'ere I thought ya were goin' t'show some of that famous 'ospitality ya talked about when I first met ya..."

Viv bobbed a bow. "You're absolutely right, where are my manners? I'll have a snack sent out to you while you wait. Business and all that. I'm sure an, ahem, lady of trade like yourself... understands."

The vixen's paw strayed down towards her skirt and the knives hidden beneath. Her tone suggested a more assertive end to the banter. "Ya're tryin' t'say somethin' snide, bird?"

Viv hopped backwards and brought her wings up shaking her head. "Not at all, not at all. I would never- We'll be as brief as a December afternoon, Miss Vidya, right Mr. Kapler?"

The wren felt herself followed as she ducked into the dugout of the Nest. However, since the angry mutterings remained behind, she felt reasonably confident it was the beast she wanted with her.

Kap's eyes flitted about the room like a wind-swept dust mote. Viv tried to follow along, her heart giving a flutter as the mother-imposed order was fighting a losing battle against the habits of dozens of young, the broken ranks of bedding showing a shattered front. Blankets and bedrolls turned the floor into a hill-valley landscape of rough, wrinkled cloth. The walls, at least, matched the floor. Trinkets and tokens lined them, tacked directly onto the dirt walls - a queen's treasure proudly displayed. A smattering of fire pits were set into alcoves - complete with small chimneys to vent smoke - and a reed mat looked like it pulled double duty as a door, since it lay propped against the inside of the entryway.

Blood rushed to the bird's cheeks as she waved a wing in front of them both. "Oh, no... there's just been so many new ones, you know? I haven't had time to... and with my work for the Abbey..." Her voice trailed off.

"It looks... like a home?" The compliment sounded weak coming from the vole, and the smile that tried to surface floundered.

It does. The blush spread further, along her beak. "It is. Come, let's retire to my little nook."

Viv lead them back to a small recess, where a couple of once-stumps-now-stools waited patiently, in the manner of all a home's trappings. She nodded to one before hopping onto a wicker perch. "I know it's not much, but it's mine... ours."

Kapler kept his eyes respectfully averted and gave a small nod.

"Now, Kapler," Viv began, waiting until the vole brought his gaze up to hers before continuing, "I'm not asking you to be like one of the kids out there. But I'll tell you one thing the same. I'll never ask about the time before if you don't want me to."

Another dumb nod was her reply.

"Some beasts come in seeing worse than I'll ever know, and it's not my place to make them spit it out. Only one of 'em is real kin, you know."

She took out a small tray of acorns from an alcove, the nutty scent sharply contrasting the dull reek of overcramped quarters. "Go on, then. Jinck said he noticed you were interested in our little operation and I told you what I'd tell any young beast. Any questions come to mind?"

"Well... why?"

"Everyone always asks that." Viv chirped a chuckle and settled into the perch. "Well, I've taken care of Jinck since he would've been suckling. And once you've been a mother once, it's not much to take in another mouth or two. After a bit - and if they're old enough to begin with - a gentle wing helps keep them taking care of each other. Did you notice the little molemaid out there?"

Kapler shook his head and replied, "No."

"Well, you just keep an eye out for the mobile potpourri. She's a little flower maiden, I swear. Greenest digging claws in this old pile of red stone. Jinck's as good as I am at keeping everyone in line, most seasons. Murphy sews like a kite soars. Philemon's a cobbler. We've got enough to keep each other taken care of, so we do." She popped an acorn in her beak to hide a grin. "And I've got two eyes to keep a look out on all of 'em."

"I meant... why, you know... us?"

Vivienne's beak ground the nut with a hard, menacing grate. Her eyes narrowed. "Fur or feathers don't matter much if you don't have anybody."

"No!" Kap's reply came out as a bark it was so rushed. "I mean... no, Miss Viv. I didn't mean to..."

A dun wing served as an olive branch. "It's all right, dear. I just hear it plenty, is all."

"Well, Miss Viv, I'm not sure what else..."

The bird nodded to the table. "Well, for one, you can come out and take however many you want. That's why they're out."

"Oh... oh! I didn't... I mean, I did, but..." Kapler stopped himself and took a short breath. "Thank you. I wouldn't want to take all of them, though."

"That's fair enough, dear." The wren tilted her head and peered at Kapler. "You know... if I wasn't used to keeping an eye on a score of little paws, I don't think I'd have seen a thing." When Kapler didn't reply, she continued. "That's as important a talent as making a shoe or planting a seed."

"Talent?" He let the word slither out of his mouth, as if he were as abashed at her assessment as the skill itself. "It's not... it's not something special. Not like them."

Again the bird reached out across the table. "Look. Sometimes things can't be asked for. You keep an eye on those paws and they could serve a beast well."

And there it was, the implication hanging in the air between them.

"You want me to... to borrow things for you?"

"Not usually." The bird relaxed, shifting her weight back. "Look, I've got a son who's wit has taken wing for migration, a dozen more tails to keep an eye on, a horde only a half-dozen wingbeats away, and I'm out of here every few minutes, it feels like, on some daft mission other than the one I need to be - filling our larders."Viv took a breather, nibbling the edge of a nut. "So, if we can keep those paws busy, maybe we can control them."

"Control..." Kapler seemed to drift off for a moment.

"All right, look, I'll get you back outside to Vidya, before she works up the choler to come in after us. You just think about it. I need someone who can help me out. If you need someone, too, that is."

"Back to... oh, the journal! I've got to find Doctor Song's son!" Kapler leapt back, disturbing a pile of bark plates.

Viv started at that, and added flapping wings to the confusion of the room. "Hey, wait a- !" Viv forestalled the avalanche with a talon, standing like a plate-balancer. "What are you talking about?"

Kapler gave a little cough of apology and shifted the detritus for her. He continued only when Viv had moved back to her perch. "I found, well, er... you know..."

Viv nodded at his trailing off. "Found. Yes."

"In Mr. Moonshot's tent. And it was about that big badger."

Viv's eyes went wide. Behind them, flocks of thoughts careened into each other like a crazed cyclone of starlings. Moonshot. The badger.

"That thing's with him? But then, why did it, you know -"

"I don't think it was," Kap replied, shaking his head. "I mean, it didn't look like it. Then again, if he's crazy..."

Viv clacked her beak. "It doesn't matter either way. We need that book and the abbot's room is the last place we want it."

"It is?"

"I'm fairly certain that Cloverleaf had to make room for that overdeveloped sense of compassion somewhere in his mind. Sacrifices were made in the areas of good sense."

"So... you're going to take something. From the abbot."

Viv shrugged. "We'll see. Go on, Kapler. Find David, he usually takes tea in his father's chambers. You let me worry about that book."

_And Fates help us if Moonshot finds out it's in the Abbot's chambers._

The wren lead them to the entrance, where the bescarved vixen waited, accompanied by her wagon-load of bad attitude. And a caravan of dibbuns who, in the manner of all children upon finding a sole adult, had mobbed her.

"Run along, lad. Find Jinck, tell him what you told me, then send him my way. I'll settle things with her."

"Are you sure, miss Viv?"

"I'll be fine. Go on. See me after you're done." As Kap picked his way through the mass of hip-high fur, Viv turned her attention back to Vidya. "Now, ma'am, before you start..."


	35. 32: You're a Canary

**Chapter 32. You're a Canary**

_by Solgrim_

Solgrim sunk his talons into his pillow and sulked, shoulders hunched. It just wasn't the same.

There were only a limited number of beds, but this one was his and he wasn't going to give it up for any earthcrawling scum. The buzzard barricaded himself in a fortress of blankets and pillows and snapped at anybeast who got too close, save the nursemaids who bustled over - much too often - to change the dressing on his wing. He could only glare at them.

The infirmary was a beehive of activity, woodlanders and vermin swarming over everything and chittering all the while. Solgrim could have burned them all alive with his hatred. _Do they have to talk so much? Just go away!_

Brisk little gusts tugged playfully at the curtains through the open window and the silvered clouds just beyond taunted Solgrim without mercy. He hunkered down, miserable and helpless. _Where is that spikehog?_ It seemed he had been gone for ages…

Solgrim awoke confused. Everything was soft and white and hazy. A chill sort of emptiness radiated from within, as if he knew he was in danger but couldn't quite muster up the energy to care about it.

And then he noticed.

What... walls?

Electric energy pulsed through Solgrim, galvanizing him into action. He beat his wings but the simple action tore a screech from his throat and he tumbled to the ground in a tangled mess of buzzard and bedsheets.

"Goodness! Looks as though our patient is feeling better, wouldn't you say, Kap? Look out!"

Solgrim lunged for the fuzzy hedgehog and crashed into a bookshelf, nearly sending the construct tumbling.

"Careful! That's the B's! I really like the B's! Kap, be a -" the hedgehog ducked a flailing wing - "be a good vole and help me hold him down!"

Solgrim motored backward, nearly tripping over himself in the process, agony gnawing at his wing. A vole approached, but a snap of the buzzard's hooked beak gave him cause to reconsider. "Get away, eyesore!" he snarled.

The vole scampered.

The hedgehog held up his paws. "Cam down, please! We aren't going to hurt you."

Solgrim snorted. "Of course you aren't, earth crawlers. Even injured, I could slay a score of you." He lifted off an inch and buckled with an anguished bleat. Freedom was in a talon's grasp, but yet he could only watch it flutter away without him through the open window.

His captor approached and despair sapped the buzzard's remaining strength. Through half-closed lids, he saw the hedgehog kneel beside him and reach for his injured wing. Solgrim slithered backward, hissing like an adder.

"G'way!" Solgrim croaked.

"For goodness sakes, how am I supposed to work if you keep squirming around like that? I need to see if that wing is broken."

"And if its not you'll break it for me?" the buzzard bit back.

The hedgehog laughed in an exhausted sort of way. "Why would I go do a fool thing like that? I'm a doctor. Well, not a medical doctor, but still, my job is to help you get better for spikes' sake!"

Although his throat was cracked and raw, the buzzard gave vent to a squawk of laughter. "You want to help me? Were you hatched yesterday? Do you know how many of your brothers I've slaughtered?" he sneered.

The hedgehog's gaze frosted, and Solgrim grinned. _Hate me, worm._ Spite licked at his thoughts like greedy tongues of flame. _I'll send you to your grave as well._

Silence rent the air like a blade through a creature's spine, and for a long moment buzzard and hedgehog glared at one another.

"You know," the latter finally spoke up, balling his fists. "Always comes down to killing, doesn't it? Many of them were ready to kill you. I was only barely able to change the abbot's mind on the matter. If it wasn't for me, Skipper would have finished what that brute of a badger started."

"What that... wha?" Solgrim was mired in confusion until clarity ran him through like a lance of white heat. "Badger!" He snarled. "Brooketail! Is he...?" The hedgehog nodded. Solgrim sagged.

The hedgehog's expression softened. "Now will you cooperate?" Solgrim allowed himself to be half-lead, half-dragged to the bed. His wing was poked and prodded at, but it was grace itself compared to his misery.

"Ah, excellent!" the woodlander piped up at length. Solgrim twisted his head, disturbed by the woodlander's lightning-quick mood change. "It's only dislocated. A small miracle, the way you were thrashing about. What marvelous tenacity! This will be a quick fix."

Solgrim fidgeted as the healer put his paw against his shoulder blade. "That hurts," he said. "You're going to make it worse."

"Nonsense! Now hold on..."

CRUNCH!

"Peea-ay!" Solgrim fell back into the pillows.

"Sorry, very sorry! It'll feel better in no time, promise. Doctor's word! I know it must be awful."

"I don't-"

"-need your sympathy, woodlander." the hedgehog finished.

Solgrim shut his beak and glared. The healer chortled. "I'm sorry, just glad I'm already starting to get t know my patient! Now..." His smile faded and he crossed his arms. "It'll take some time to fully heal, and until then there's going to have to be a few rules. You will not eat another creature within these walls."

Allowing himself the aid of a lesser creature who would have been lunch on any other day had already reduced the buzzard to a bundle of frayed nerves and he fluffed up with indignation. "You would have me starve, then?" he snapped.

"Of course not." The woodlander flicked the air with his paw. "Plenty of fish in the abbey pond. I can attest the friar cooks a marvelous trout. 'Course, he may still be mad about me on account of that one episode, but still, David could goad him."

"Oh good, the spikehog approves."

"Oy! Don't call me that!" The hedgehog flailed his paws. "See here, I haven't called you any names." He sighed. "Listen. Once you're healed and this badger problem is taken care of, you must promise me that you'll fly far away from Redwall and never harm another one of our creatures as long as you live. You can eat whatever ghastly thing you please then." He held a paw out. "Deal?"

Solgrim fought to perch upward on the bed. He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, shoulders hunched. _Once I'm healed there will be nothing stopping me from plucking your eyes out, idiot spikehog._ "Deal."

Talon met paw. A smile spread across the healer's snout. "There! Now - oh! I just thought of something. Be back in a bit - you rest there, all right?"

Solgrim shifted; it seemed he'd dozed off a bit. The room was blissfully quiet, with most of the beasts either gone or resting. And yet that healer was still missing. Tch, he probably forgot all about whatever it was.

Restless and bored, he hopped off his bed but unbalanced and performed an awkward landing, claws skittering against the floor. He was glad that nobeast had seen him, but it was a hollow victory and he stalked toward the window in a bad humor.

"Oh!"

Solgrim spun. The hedgehog raised a placating paw. "Didn't mean to surprise you, I just didn't expect to see you up and about so soon. How is that wing feeling?"

The buzzard noticed that the bandage was gone; one of the nursemaids must have unbound it before leaving. He flexed it tentatively and his eyes widened. "It's... much better." He looked away and muttered something that could have been an apology.

"I brought you a little something for being such a good patient."

The hog set a plate down in front of Solgrim, who cocked his head at the thing that it contained. "This is food?" he asked.

"Is it ever!" The hedgehog grinned so brightly it could have lit up the entirety of mossflower wood under a new moon. "It's not meat, but in all my years I've never met a beast who didn't enjoy a good slice of pie."

The buzzard appraised the pie. _Rubbish. It is through proper blood and flesh that a beast gains strength. Only lesser creatures don't understand, and that is why they are worthless as anything but food._ He looked the hegehog in the eye. "This is not for me."

The hedgehog crossed his arms. "This is a direct order from your doctor, and I won't take no for an answer. I'll bother you about it for the rest of the day and follow you around chanting 'pie pie pie!' until you lose your mind."

The bird's eye twitched.

"See, it's working already! Just one measly taste..."

"Argh!" Solgrim stalked toward the plate, his expression pure venom. "Enough!" _If there's no choice I might as well pretend…_

He tore into the crust.

"Poor thing had a scone and two little cakes waiting for him at home."

Solgrim ignored the comment, picking at the pastry's innards. At the very least it was pleasantly squishy and warm inside, and he snapped up chunky bits of something every now and then.

It was - how was a buzzard even to describe such a thing? It was far sweeter even than the honey he sometimes pilfered from bees nests. It was unlike any sort of savory flesh, even dormouse, and the texture of the crust was strange to him. But the most disturbing was that he liked it.

Not that he would admit it.

"What did I tell you? Hits the spot doesn't it?" The healer asked.

"What is inside?" the buzzard asked before snapping up another beakfull.

"Apples."

"Mm."

"My wife loved apple pie best of all. If you didn't hide it from her, she'd finish it all before you had time to tell her to leave some for any other beast. There was just no getting in between her and a pie, let me tell you that. Why, one time - "

Solgrim looked up from the remains of his meal. "You talk too much, woodlander."

The hedgehog harumphed. "I have a name, you know," he said. "Call me Russel."

But Solgrim returned to his food without a word, seemingly ignoring the woodlander. Russel turned away to work on other things, leaving the buzzard in stony silence.

Solgrim, pie finished, hopped onto the windowsill, staring out into the distance. A sparrow flitted nearby and Solgrim eyed it with longing hatred. Wretched little twit.

Russel padded up to him and set his elbows against the sill.

"Say, Solgrim..." the bird's hopes that his companion would remain silent were dashed. "About that ferret, Brooketail was his name?"

The buzzard felt the pie inside of him curdle. First Avery and now this creature... why does everybeast have to bring it up? What do they expect of me? "I don't want to talk about it," he said.

"You know, we could probably send a search party for his body and give him a proper burial."

_None of you filth are touching him! _Feathers flared, Solgrim whirled on the hedgehog. "I said I don't-" He blinked. "... Hold on. Did you accept any ferret kits into the abbey recently?"

The hedgehog scratched at his head spikes. "Hmm... I want to say yes, but I don't exactly remember how many, if any. Why?"

"On the march, Brooketail often told me about his grandkits and how he left them here to be taken care of," Solgrim said. "But I only noticed one earlier, before Brooketail went out to fetch his son. What if the others are missing?"

Russel's expression clouded with worry. "That's a problem. I'll check with the others and see if I've missed them; it's entirely possible. But if not, we'll just have to go look for them."

"We?"

The hedgehog nodded. "Of course! You look so miserable cooped up inside, little bit of a walk will do you good."

"And what of the badger?" Solgrim asked.

Russel waved a paw. "We'll worry about that when it happens. You've got to wash one paw before the other, after all... er, although I guess that doesn't quite work for you."

Solgrim turned to the window. He opened his beak. "Do-

"-what you like," Russel finished blithely.

"Will you stop that?!"


	36. 33: The Doctor and The Beast

**Chapter 33. The Doctor and The Beast**

_by Russel_

"Are we to destroy this badger?" inquired Solgrim.

The hedgehog shot him a glance, head lopsided as an unsecured shelf.

"I should hope not! Blimey, destroying a thing like that would be like destroying...well…"

He didn't have a comparison. Whatever that thing was was uniquely it. It was the product of a brilliant mind and one that may have been just a bit mad. Russel might have felt some kinship to that thing's creator, if he hadn't seen it slaughter all of those creatures, most especially the one who went back for his son.

"Then what are we to do, landbound, talk it to death?"

"Talk, yes, death, no. Not if I have a say in it and I'd imagine I do; having a son does wonders for strengthening your vocal cords. We talk to this creature, figure out what it wants, perhaps convince it that it's the same thing we want."

"What would that be?"

"Peace," Russel said, spouting the word as though it was the most obvious answer and yet not the most appropriate word to use. Somehow it didn't cover it all. It was a soup bowl used to hold an entire kettle.

Solgrim shook his head. "Speak for yourself, spikehog."

"Oy, what'd I say about calling me that, that hurts! Besides, what's your end goal in all of this?"

He could see Solgrim's breast inflate with pride as he gave his answer. "To become the greatest weapon in the history of this world."

Russel's brows raised, kites on the winds of confusion.

"And?"

"There is supposed to be more?"

"Well, yes, of course yes. The greatest weapon? What for?"

Solgrim appeared to be counting the number of spines on Russel's forehead before he returned with, "No reason than becoming."

The hog, his head skewing to one side like a turning gear, laughed. He shook his head as he answered the great bird.

"Now that is more profound an answer than you think. Spikes and beakers, Lua'd love that answer." _If it wasn't relating to something so macabre as a weapon_

Talon and paw crunched through the snow, the air filled with a sound like great feasting caterpillars, the only beat signifying the passage of time as they tread the black and white wood. Then a soft word, a sort of desire to dispel the silence as they searched for a beast whom it was probably best not to find.

"This Lua, she is your mate?"

Another laugh from Doctor Song at his patient. "Yes. Wonderful hog. You'll have to meet her when we get back to the abbey." He took a deep breath of the stinging air.

"Just wonderful. I have met very few people in my lifetime as brilliant as me but she, well, she's acres ahead. Well, we're about even, actually. But the things she sees, the way she thinks...it's loads beyond my understanding and I will tell you one thing, Solgrim, if you know nothing else about me, know that there are very few things that that happens with. Except maybe baking. Never could figure out how to bake that casserole. Anyway, Lua, though, you should see-see that there, that right there! You see it, Solgrim? Tell me I haven't gone mad."

A few yards away was a prone form. The snow had kept it somewhat preserved, though the blood around the neck looked like it was beginning to go a bit bad.

"Sage," said Solgrim as if describing a tree or a plant.

"Who?"

"He was the doctor of the Redfire Army."

"Oh." He knelt next to the slumped body. "Well, I'm sorry, Doctor Sage, so sorry especially that we didn't get a chance to meet. I'd wager, one doctor talking to another, might have been interesting. And I'm especially sorry that I'm going through your pockets right now, but, well, can't resist a piece of paper when it's sticking out of a beast's pocket."

Russel was two lines into reading the parchment he had retrieved from the fallen doctor's pocket when he realized something.

"Oh, for puff's sake! I've forgotten my spectacles. Solgrim, would you be a good buzzard and fetch them for me? You already know where my study is at the abbey, David should be there to tell you where they are."

The buzzard shuffled his feet, stacking claw prints in the snow. "What about...my recent injury?"

"Well," began Russel, a claw pressed to his lip. "The abbey's not to far away if you fly straight to it. I figure fly that way for about fifty paces, take a break for a few breaths, then fly again, another break. It'll take longer, but it's shorter than me having to make the way."

The great buzzard appeared to deliberate before rising into the air, scattering snowflakes like motes before a feather duster, then climbing until his shadow blended with the trees and then the blue-black of the night sky.

When Russel was alone, he turned his attention back to the document, impatient to try to make out more. He swore loudly when the next few lines read quite clearly.

"Doctor Song, you've just gone and done something very foolish."

As he was want to do when he was alone, he answered himself.

"And that would be?"

"You don't wear spectacles!"

All he could do now was wait for Solgrim to return and read the paper as he did so. Two paragraphs in, he noticed something amiss.

"Doctor Song?"

"Yes?"

"The sky wasn't cloudy when we left the abbey, was it?"

"Not very, no."

"Then why is it suddenly so dark?"

Two seconds were afforded the hog before a great metal something crashed into the ground where he stood not a moment before. Bringing himself about, Russel looked up to behold the object of his search.

"Hello! So nice to finally …"

Russel realized all too quickly that one day's rest wasn't enough for a bad ankle as he narrowly dodged the badger's next blow.

"Where is he?"

"Now, hold on, just a moment! There, right there, you can talk, right? Let's talk."

This slowed the creature, but only just, as it continued to lumber closer to him.

"Where?!"

"I can help you!"

"Kill! Crush! Exterminate!"

"Hold on, hold on!"

"I must be complete."

As though one paw could stop the avalanche of beast and metal, Russel raised his palm skyward.

"Wait, right there, wait! What you just said. You have to be complete. Why?"

The beast froze.

"It is my destiny."

"So you kill? You kill to be complete, is that what you're telling me - wait, don't answer that, not just yet. Ruins it for me to guess. You're...you need someone specific to make you complete, yes?"

"Where is he?"

The doctor waved the giant badger's words away like swatting at a mite.

"You have to kill someone to be complete - no, no, you need someone to make you complete." Something the badger had mentioned before came to his mind then. "The Professor."

The badger went rigid as a loaded crossbow.

"You know the professor?"

Now he was in the boiling water. His next answer could very well determine if he was to return home with all of his bone still inside his body and uncrushed or if he'd suddenly become very well acquainted with the woodland soil.

"Yes, I know the professor. Several, actually. How d'you think I became a doctor, eh?"

"Where is he?"

"First, though, you've got to tell me who he is?"

A massive paw crushed the snow very near where Russel was, then retreated, circling about again as though it had a mind of its own, a beast prowling behind prison bars. The badger was thinking.

"I need a name. Can't help you without a name."

The badger didn't move, but Russel could tell he was thinking. He could almost hear the whirring of belts, the great clanking of gears inside the great metal beast's head. The beast's jaw seemed to groan as it churned out an answer.

"Falliss. Professor Falliss."

"Falliss." Russel rolled the word on his tongue, juggled it between his cheeks, then swallowed it and attempted to digest the information a bit. "Professor Falliss? Right-o, that'll be all for right now."

"Where are you going?"

"To go have a word with the professor, of course."

He could hear and feel the badger's footsteps like felled trees following him.

"Take me to him."

"'Fraid not. I need to...confer with him, that's a good word for it, confer. Is it a conference, though, if it's just the two of us? Anyway, need to confer with him, tell him of your progress and, if he concurs with me, as I think he will, you'll be meeting him soon enough. Bye."

His ears were suddenly filled with an old oak's screaming as roots were rent from the ground, fibers were torn in half, bark was shattered and tossed asunder with its home trunk.

"I must see him!?"

Russel turned about, paws in his pocket, head cocked to the side.

"I was very afraid of having to do this."

The hog bolted as thought all the forces of Hellgates were bearing down upon him, and with the racket of metal and flesh and rage going on behind him, it very well might have been. Russel could picture the gates opening as the beast's armor creaked like ancient, rusted iron hinges, hear another scream of aged bark as the first assailant began to charge him. The hog threw himself to the ground, rolled, heard his coat tear in the struggle.

From his vantage point, the naked tree limbs appeared to branch out the creature's back, long, spindly claws, spider legs to ensnare twitching, writhing victims. All thoughts of the liquid burning itch in his ankle evaporated as he pulled himself upright, footpaws leaping through the snow to escape the predator. Russel could only think of the sound of the creature behind him as he ran and how he had to escape that cacophony, the sound of one million clocks being ground together and set ablaze. He couldn't die here. They were waiting for him, Lua and his son were waiting for him. He needed to see them again.

Bartholomew had the crossbow, which left Russel with one weapon; the one lodged betwixt his ears, behind his skull. There must have been something about this creature, a chink in the armor, a weakness. Or perhaps, he realized with wide eyes and a grin as he ducked a sweeping paw he could feel coming after him before seeing it, a design flaw. The monster had to adjust when he'd made the hard turn earlier.

"Oh, I am brilliant! Why didn't I see it before?"

The hog ran, then as quick as he could manage, made a sharp turn around an oak. Behind, armor clattered, muscle bulged, footpaws thundered into the earth, then lowered to a rustling as the creature came about. Russel let the creature get half-way to where he was before making another sharp turn, then another, then another. Rounding off by ducking low beneath some branches not yet starved by winter's frost, the hog was a good fifty-five-and-a-half paces away before he could hear the creature begin to tear through the overgrowth. Russel didn't allow himself rest, though, not yet. It would take more than trees and right-angles to slow this beast enough to get away. The hog ran straight away for five hard, staggered breaths when he changed course, hoping he wasn't about to do something that would get a bunch of innocent children killed.

The doors to a restored Saint Ninian's exploded open, then slammed shut, followed by the uneven tattoo of limping paw beats on cold stone.

"Bart, 'ello! I see you succeeded in your search," said Russel with the last of his breath, diving back into frantic panting soon after. Crowded around the hare were three ferret children, all boys.

"Quite so, old bean. And you yours, wot?"

A cry as loud and evoking as much dread in the hog as all of his shelves coming loose from their walls at once shook the entire church. Doctor Song offered a weak smile.

"You...could say that."

The hog limped down the isle as he struggled for control over his lungs. Fear and desperation dulled pain better than any apothecary's craft but only for so long. Russel's twisted ankle had been forgotten during his run but now it made itself known. The hog clattered into a nearby pew just as he heard steel scrape sheath.

"You three, names, and make it quick. Can't say I'll remember them, but, well, courtesy and all. Bart, put that thing away, you'll get us all killed."

The children answered him around the same time Bart complained.

"With due respect, Doctor, that monster killed half me crew, if that's the sound of what I think it is."

"I'm Fortin, that one's Launce -"

An' the little one over there is Benedick," cut in the middle child before the eldest could finish. "Why you havta introduce the lot of us, can't we do it ourselves?"

Confronted with such overlapping noise, Russel was forced to partake in his least favorite activity; dealing with one thing at a time.

"Right, never mind that. Fortin, you and your brother Luce -"

"Launce."

"Right, him, go barricade that door. Put the crossbar down, stack pews in front of it, everything you can. Now, you..."

His eyes rested upon the youngest ferret who stared up at him with unsure eyes and waved.

"Just. Just stay close, right?"

"Hey, spike hog!" called Launce. "Does this look good enough?"

Before he could appraise their work, the two ferrets were flung from the door by a great resounding crash which caused splinters to fly from the door, small mites of masonry to fall from the ceiling. The hog's eyes searched the room, latching onto a small doorway at the far end. He could see stairs peeking around the corner of the frame

"You lot, help me up, we're heading through that door and up the stair. I've got a plan-well, more of a rough outline on how we're going to get out of this little predicament."

Though the children obeyed, Bart remained where he was, saber drawn, grumbling under his breath.

"not about t'let the old boy have his run of this church, no sah, not while I…"

The hog put a paw on the hare's shoulder.

"Bart, I'm sorry about your crew, really I am, but take a look around. Right now, you've got a cripple doctor, three children and a weapon that's a metal toothpick in comparison to the creature outside. Well, and my crossbow." Which gave the doctor an idea for the next step in their plan. "You'll have to trust me."

Whatever it was that got the hare to sheath his weapon, be it begrudging acceptance or desperation bourn of realization, Russel was grateful for it. Otherwise, Bart would have surely been slain.

Indeed, they were not more than half-way up the stairway, the children assisting him on either side while Bart guarded their rear flank, when they could hear the door finally give to the rage-fueled muscle that had been pounding relentless against it.

"Keep moving, everybeast, don't look back," he whispered. "That small door will give him some trouble and he won't know exactly where we are just yet."

The reconstructed Saint Ninian's possessed several key differences from it's predecessor, foremost the tall bell tower set at one end. This new feature would facilitate two of the needs for their escape: a confined space and a good deal of rope.

More disheveled stone clattered against the foundation, backed by the hollow clatter of wood in a disjointed duet. That would be the badger breaking through the door at the other end of the church, giving them extra time. A good thing they had made it to the top of the tower.

Russel clapped his paws together soon after they had thrown the door closed and bolted it shut. If nothing else, the architects of Saint Ninian's had kept in mind how often the older building had been sieged and taken over by vermin. Even with the extra security, they still moved a few chairs against the door as quietly as they could.

The hog looked out the window until he found what he was looking for. _A bit close, but we don't have time to wait for another tree to grow._

"Bart, give me the crossbow while you go and cut the bell free."

"That'll tell the blighter right where we are!"

"And it'll be right loud too, so mind your big ears. You three-forgot your names already, not important. Take that lantern oil over there, rip of a bit of your shirts and douse it in the oil. We'll need something to wrap around the rope."

The hog felt a tug at his pant leg, which caused him to look down to see the smallest ferret stare up at him, wave, then clutch the hem of his overgrown shirt.

"Mista Spikeydog, what are we doin'?"

Russel wagged a claw at the young, ever-so-adorable little creature, "Something that you and your brothers can never, ever try to do again once we're out of this mess. Although it'll be a lot of fun."

_If it works and I haven't finally gone mad this time_

Bart at least had the consideration to whisper off a count of three before he cut the rope holding the heavy metal bell. The tower design fulfilling its purpose, the sound of the crash echoed through the entire building, into the ear, and pierced the head like some boring insect. One of the children cried out, the sound drowned by the foggy ringing of the bell as was the following roar from below and the sound of the second doorway coming loose.

Despite his ache, Russel was able to mark off what he was sure was the right length of rope, cut it with Bart's saber and then tie it securely to the bolt before taking aim. He barely heard or felt as the badger crashed against the door unsuccessfully, so concentrated on the shot as he was.

Like some wonderful metal bird, the bolt loosed and flew obediently to nestle deep in the bark of the tree. With a boost from Bart, the hog tied the free end of the rope to the rafters.

The hog dunked the scrap of what used to be the lower half of his apron into the lantern oil. He loved that apron. Now he'd have to find somewhere else to keep his stuff.

"Doctor!" he made out through the persistent ringing.

"Coming!"

He looped the scrap around the rope, prepared to kick off for the initial test, stopped when he saw Bart standing with his saber drawn.

"Bart, time to go."

"Not while that monster still breathes it isn't."

Russel sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Right, kiddoes, you first. I need to talk Uncle Bart into staying a living, breathing

hare rather than becoming a furry smudge on that badger's boot."

"Are you sure this is safe?"

"Not a lot of time for me to make sure, is there?" he said, grinning even as his teeth rattled in the second impact. The door was starting to shake loose.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the children, one by one, slide down the rope to safety, taking a breath of relief after each departed when the rope held. Russel secured his rag to the rope before crossing to Bart. Shaking paws seized the hare's stiff shoulders.

"Bart, getting yourself killed isn't going to help avenge anybeast."

"It's a small space. Gives me the advantage of maneuverability, wot!"

"Right, small. Meaning it'll be easier for him to -"

Metal and muscle finally won out over wood and stone as the door collapsed to reveal the badger, his breath showing in the cold like smoke from a fire deep inside of the suit, keeping the creature going. It had to crouch down to get into the room, delaying it somewhat. Just as Russel expected.

"Take me to the professor!"

"Bart. Window. Now."

The hare finally obeyed.

"I'll take you to him soon enough, but for now you need to stay calm."

The creature advanced. "I will crush you if you do not take me to him."

"Do that and I'll make sure you're never made complete. Ever," said Russel in a tone that suggested he was talking to an overlarge dibbun and not a metal monstrosity.

The badger stopped.

"Good. Manners are important. Now, you just sit -"

A crossbow bolt thudded uselessly against the creature's chest plate. It was like sounding an enormous gong, the way the small thing caused the behemoth roar to usher from the creature's mask. Russel turned. Bart was holding the crossbow.

"Bart, you stupid, stupid, stupid...dumb!"

The hare began to reload the weapon but even with a twisted ankle, Russel was too fast. He ran to the window, barreled into the hare and through some miracle of coordination seized hold of the rag with his free paw.

The hog nearly lost his grip more than a few times as he shot down the line faster than a stone from a sling. He saw portraits of her in his mind's eye, then, hastily drawn things, yet so vivid in their color. Lua's expression on the day they met, working hard at her creation; Lua studying an old book, reading it backward and upside down; Lua practicing her script with her off-paw. Lua smiling at him as they corrected one another's notes. Lua on a sick bed. Lua slowly becoming something that wasn't Lua anymore, but a house, a hollowed-out dwelling for whatever sickness had her in its thrall. Lua no longer Lua. Just a barren shell of a hog, lying on a bed stained with her blood, covered to her face in disease ridden sheets.

Russel padded himself. Everything was solid, no fractures anywhere. He prodded the lump composed of snow, fur and cloth at his side. It groaned.

"On you feet, sailor, there's a good lad."

The hog helped Bart to his feet, realizing a bit too late that it would have been nice had there been someone to do the same for him. His legs steadied quickly. However, his heart did not.

"It's trapped, the blighter. It'll take it awhile to get out of that small room, I'd wager" said Bart.

"Which gives us enough time to get back to the abbey before that thing can give chase. Come along, children, Bart."

The hare lingered on the spot, but didn't stay after Russel was more than a few steps away. At least that crossbow bolt had showed him how foolish it would have been to go after the badger on his own.

Not a sound from any in the group on the way back, save the occasional sniff from Russel. His eyes got a bit too blurry for navigation a few times, but he didn't trip. A small partition of his brain hoped Solgrim would be smart enough to find them at the abbey.

The rest of him was focused on a singular, far off thing. He knew exactly what he would do when he got back to the abbey, what he had to do. He would go to the corridor and he would try, no matter how hot as cinders that memory might burn, try to remember what he told himself to remember.


	37. 34: Oh, better far to live and die

**Chapter 34. Oh, better far to live and die, under the brave black flag I fly!**

_by Bartolomeo_

By the time the rescue party had returned to Redwall there was some kind of dinner underway in the Great Hall.

"I say, old bean, what's going on around here then?" Bart enquired as a plump hedgehog hurried past carrying a fresh tray of pastries.

"Where have you been?" snorted the woodlander, "The Abbot's hosting that vermin Lord and his officers. Wants to try and get him on friendly terms, or some such nonsense. Waste of time, if you ask me. Should have left them outside to their fate! Can't be trusting vermin. There'll be trouble, just you wait and see! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get these pastries to the Abbot's table."

Bart watched the hedgehog hurry away into the Great Hall. As the door opened there was a flash of firelight and a quick blast of lively conversation. The corsair grinned.

"Well, my good Doctor, sounds like if the old Abbot's entertaining Moonshot's officers then I've found my source of entertainment for the night! Keep an eye on the young'uns!"

Before Russel could splutter a protest, Bart had given a cheery wave and vanished into the hall. The long tables were packed. The hare looked around for a suitable spot, but it seemed that the festivities had been going on for some time, and he could only manage to squeeze onto one of the tables that seemed to merge with the darkness around the outside of the room. He glanced around for familiar faces, spotting a couple of the Captains that he'd started to recognise from the Red Fire Army. His heart jumped as he spotted Rosemary on the other side of the hall, but there was no way he could make it over to her crowded table. All he could manage was a quick wave, but it didn't seem as if she'd noticed him. Shrugging, Bart turned his attention to the food.

The feast seemed to drag on for some time. Once the flow of food and drink started to slow, there came the stories, the songs and the poems. Bart yawned loudly as a mouse in the centre of the hall started off on yet another dreary song about some dusty old Abbot of many generations past.

"Bored?" asked the beast next to him, a Red Fire Captain.

Bart rolled his eyes. "Oh, well, it's these songs. They're so dull! Nobeast's been decapitated, disembowelled, or anything. Nothing's even been looted, don't you know!"

"And you think you can do better?"

Bart laughed coldly. "Matey, I've got stories that'll curl your bally whiskers!"

Now it was the Red Fire officer's turn to laugh. "What story could you possibly know that's that bad?"

"Well, there's the one about how I came to Captain the _Bluddseeker_, but I wouldn't want to spoil your meal, old chap."

* * *

_Removed to try and bring an end to drama and a return to normality._

* * *

The Red Fire officer's face was ashen as Bart finished recounting his tale. "Ah... I guess you win that one," he said, slowly standing. "I'm just going... to get another drink, I think... yes…"

Bart waved farewell to the rapidly retreating officer, chuckling to himself at just how quickly the beast's face had gone grey. The hare took another mouthful of whatever it was they were serving as drinks in the Abbey. It didn't hold up to the grog on the _Bluddseeker_. Deciding to find a real drink, Bart got up and wandered out of the Great Hall in search of wherever the survivors of his crew had been deposited by the Abbey officials. Had had only been walking for a few minutes when suddenly he felt a movement behind him, and a paw clamped over his mouth.

"It's time for you to learn my secret!" hissed a familiar voice in his ear.

Bart's eyes widened. Avery? Before he could try and break free from the ferret's grip, he felt a sharp, searing pain as the vermin slid a dagger between his ribs. He tried to cry out, but Avery had too good a grip over his mouth.

"Moonshot said that if it looked like you were going soft I was to put you out of my misery," Avery whispered. "And I saw you making eyes at that pretty haremaid! And then I heard you went running off to save some helpless babies? You woodlanders are all the same, you'll all get what's coming to you, you'll see!"

Bart could feel his strength failing as his blood stained the back of his shirt. Mustering all his will, he reached up and grabbed Avery's collar in a death grip, pulling the ferret's face close to his. Avery looked shocked, and momentarily let go of Bart's mouth.

The corsair locked his eyes on Avery's, summoning his last breath. "A plague on you... Avery Selwyn…" he gasped. "I... will... haunt you... until the day...you die…"

As Avery struggled to free his collar, Bart spat viciously into the ferret's eye, then collapsed to the cold stone floor and breathed his last.

end of week three.


	38. 35: Is This A Dagger Which I See Before

beginning of week four.

**Chapter 35. Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me…?**

_by Avery_

"Stars, hide your fires!

Let not light see my black and deep desires." - _Macbeth_

Avery fidgeted in his seat. He didn't see what was so great about this Great Hall. Being forced to sit amongst woodlanders, when the bumpkins were better suited to be off serving them food and getting them strong drinks, was almost more than the ferret could tolerate. One of the blighters had even taken a seat next to him: a haremaid, most likely the one that Bart had been ogling in the infirmary earlier, but it didn't matter. They all looked the same to him anyway, ridiculous ears and teeth poking out shamelessly all over the place.

"Ah, it looks like they have returned!" the hare said, touching Avery's shoulder amicably.

The ferret shrugged her away. "Paws off, if you don't mind." He remembered Moonshot's orders not to make a scene and forced out as politely as he could muster, "Who has returned?"

"Bartolomeo, and presumably Doctor Song and that buzzard, as well." She pointed, and Avery turned to see the travesty of a corsair swagger in, bold as brass, and sit down with the rest of the diners.

The haremaid stared across the hall for a moment, frowning slightly as if deep in thought, then returned to her dinner. Avery watched as Bart's eyes fell on Rosemary. He stared a bit too long for Avery's liking. He was disgusted with the hare for leaving him in the lurch earlier to canoodle with the other hare, and then to leave the abbey to...to...

"Hang on," the ferret said, frowning, "where did Bart and Solgrim return _from_?"

"You didn't hear? Some kits were out in Mossflower by themselves. They went out to rescue them."

Avery's eyes narrowed. Bart was now telling a story to a Red Fire Army officer, and if the looks of horror on the listener's face were any indication, it was a fairly gruesome one. "And why would he help a bunch of stupid kits?"

The haremaid smiled mischievously. "I noticed he'd taken a bit of a shine to me, wot. Us fair maidens can be rather persuasive, doncha know." She waggled her eyebrows.

Avery hid his grimace behind his tankard of October Ale. He forced down a sip, but the potent potable did little to warm the cold pit in his stomach. The ferret knew the Red Fire Army had lost its misfit captain forever; he was tightly wrapped round this haremaid's smallest, daintiest digit. Avery had never understood Bartolomeo until this moment; he may put on a big show, but deep down he was just another scummy woodlander. Hatred coursed through the ferret, and when he saw Bart rise from the table, he rose as well.

"Off to bed so soon, are we?" the haremaid asked.

He thought he grunted something in response, but he couldn't be sure. He made his way through the hall, squeezing past several conversational beasts standing right in the middle of the aisles. He saw Bart slip out the door and slipped out after him. It was dark in the passageway, and deserted. Avery supposed the other beasts had already had their dinner and were either in bed or getting ready to be. The ferret locked eyes on his oblivious prey and crept forward.

It was over in a heart-pounding blur; Avery shook off Bart's still form and stared at it for one second that seemed to stretch on into eternity. He could scarcely believe he'd done it. He'd killed Bartolomeo.

The ferret could hear pawsteps near the door, and panic flooded his senses. He bolted down the passageway, around a corner, and burst through the first door he came to. It was a small office of some sort, with a desk in one corner and some fat creature lying fast asleep on a bed in the other. By the sound of his loud snores, it was clear he wouldn't be waking up any time soon.

Avery closed the door and leaned against it, taking deep breaths. He shut his eyes, but all he saw were Bartolomeo's staring right back at him. He quickly opened them again. It had felt good, though, hadn't it? He reasoned with himself. Having the cocky hare rendered utterly helpless, it was what he deserved, and Moonshot himself had ordered it.

A faint scream down the passageway jolted Avery into alertness once more. He cast about the dimly lit office. There, on the windowsill! A pitcher and basin. Avery crept toward it, eyeing the sleeping...whatever it was. A mole, perhaps? The mole carried on snoring, completely unaware of the ferret's presence.

Avery quietly poured a bit of water in the basin and scrubbed at his paws, watching the hare's blood blossom into the basin, growing and swirling until the water turned a murky pink. He used a kerchief on the desk to wipe down his dagger blade, then checked himself in the reflection in the window.

The ferret crossed to the door, but was struck with sudden inspiration. Cleaning up might be all that was necessary, but just in case...

Avery wandered through the passages until he found an alternate way back to the door to Great Hall. A sizable group had gathered, including the abbot, that haremaid, Moonshot, and Cromley. They were all in such heated discussion that they didn't notice Avery approaching.

"They killed him, Father!" the haremaid insisted.

"Killed him? Why ever would we do that? He's one of our own, you know." Moonshot's expression was one of mild interest, as if he would rather be back in the hall, eating and conversing with his treasures.

"One of _you_? He's a hare, not some mangy vermin," an otter growled.

"Please!" the abbot said. "Let us not open our mouths in haste. For all we know, this could just be a terrible accident."

"Only a fool would call this an accident," Cromley scoffed.

"Father Abbot isn't a fool. You take that back, cat!" the haremaid shouted, shaking a fist in Cromley's direction.

"And _you_ would make me?" The feline allowed himself a rare chuckle.

A wealth of emotions played across the haremaid's face, defiance the most prominent. "Aye. I grew up with the bally Long Patrol, cat. Care to test your luck?"

"Please!" the abbot repeated. "No more violence today. Sister Rosemary, calm yourself at once."

Rosemary looked anything but calm, but she bit her tongue and contented herself to glare daggers at Cromley, who looked faintly amused by it all.

"Well, if we are to remain at peace, we must get to the bottom of this," Moonshot said.

He caught Avery's eye and gave him a small smile. The ferret's gasp caught in his throat; the weasel chieftain knew. What was he doing? Turning him in? Sacrificing him? Would that be his reward?

"If the killer is here, he can't have left the abbey," Moonshot continued. "And if he has, the badger will make short work of him. I suggest we send a search party out to the immediate area. If we find the culprit, we find him. If not, then, as I said, he's the badger's problem."

"Or she," Cromley added, his piercing eyes still fixed on Rosemary.

The abbot and Moonshot sent several beasts off to search the abbey. Avery was able to sidle closer to the weasel as the rest of them waited. The ferret did his best not to look at Bart's body.

"Your work, I presume?" the weasel whispered to him.

"Yes," he whispered back. "So what are you doing?"

"Leverage, dear boy. They're not going to find anything, so there will always be suspicion. I can use the murder of one of my innocent soldiers as leverage. What should I ask for? More food, do you think? Rooms in the abbey? Or shall I ask for that gorgeous sword hanging by that tapestry of the mouse? Did you see it? Fabulous."

Avery cleared his throat nervously. "Actually...I think they will find something."

Moonshot's face fell. "What?"

"We got 'im!"

A Red Fire stoat and rat came into view, dragging the fat mole along between them. The mole looked sleepy and confused and kept mumbling indecipherable excuses.

"Foremole?" the abbot gasped. "Don't be preposterous!"

"Found 'im pretendin' to take a little nap after 'is killin'," the rat sneered. He and his companion released Foremole, who fell in a miserable heap before the abbot. "'E 'ad a bowl full of bloody water in 'is room, blood stains on 'is claws, an' this." The rat held up the bloody kerchief.

The otter that had argued with Moonshot earlier appeared behind the soldiers. "It's...true, Father. I saw it with my own eyes. It makes no sense."

"Well, obviously it was a frame-up, Skipper!" Rosemary snapped. "The Foremole wouldn't hurt a ruddy fly, wot!"

"Why?" Avery asked. "Are you saying it _had_ to be one of us? None of you Redwallers could possibly have done it? That's rather presumptuous."

Rosemary glared at him. Avery had to look away. "No, I'm not. Stop putting words on my mouth!"

"Did he, though?" Moonshot asked. "I think it's fair to say we are not actually safe in Redwall. I'm just a little sad nobeast ever taught you all the meaning of the word 'truce,' but, well, we can't all be well-versed in the laws of combat."

"Now, hold on..." the abbot began, but Moonshot held up a paw.

"An eye for an eye, abbot. It is only fair. We will be taking the Foremole into our custody. It's only fair."

The rat and stoat hauled the mole upright.

"Boo urr, you'm 'ave t' believe Oi didn't do it!" Foremole said.

"You can't do this!" Skipper growled.

"Oh, don't worry, he will be kept alive and unharmed," Moonshot said, "which, of course, is more than can be said for Captain Bartolomeo."

"Father!" Rosemary and Skipper both yelled, their eyes on the abbot.

The vole sighed, fidgeting with his habit cord. "I don't...I don't know...I suppose...We shall check on him tomorrow to make sure he is not harmed, at which point we shall hopefully have found what really happened tonight."

"Take him away," Cromley ordered.

"Seems I underestimated you, Captain Selwyn," Moonshot said as they made their way to the outside door. "Keep it up, and a promotion might be in order."

Avery smiled, but paused at the sound of that haremaid's infernal shrieking. He turned. She had taken the abbot aside and looked furious.

"How could you let those monsters take Foremole, Father?"

"Sister, please. I know they will not harm him. If they do, their ticket is up and they will be let back outside. It is as simple as that. It may already be up, too, if one of them has spilled blood inside this abbey."

"If? It _is _one of them, Father! It has to be! Foremole would never have done this. I'm going to get to the bottom of it."

The abbot shook his head. "Sister, I forbid it. Getting mixed up with characters such as these is far too dangerous."

Rosemary stamped her footpaw hard. "What am I to you, a bally prop? Just a sister that sits in the infirmary all day fluttering her eyelashes at all the handsome wounded warriors and does nothing else? Well, I'm not, and I'll prove it to you!"

"I never said..."

"Good night, Father Abbot!"

She stormed off. Avery grimaced. If Bart were still around, he'd have his paws full with that one. Bart...

Two Red Fire soldiers threw a tattered sheet over the hare and hoisted him up together. Avery stood aside to let them pass, then followed them outside. A chill wind kicked up, jabbing needles of icy air into any place not protected by clothing. Avery drew his long cloak tighter about himself, stuffing his damp paws into his pockets. He felt strangely cold inside as well. He hadn't felt like this when he'd killed Shardfang, and he'd known the unpleasant rat for much longer.

Perhaps he was just tired. He needed some sleep was all.

He found his tent and sank onto his cot, for once not caring that three other beasts were asleep in it, snoring much like the stupid mole had been. It took him ages to get to sleep, and when he did, he dreamed he was in a room full of mirrors, with thousands of pairs of eyes all reflected in them, all the same pair of eyes, their gazes boring into him. No matter which way he turned, they were there. No matter how hard he tried to shut his eyes, he wasn't able.

Just before dawn the ferret awoke. He'd somehow become wrapped so tightly in his blanket that it took him several moments to disentangle himself. He curled up completely under the blanket, sighing. He still felt cold.


	39. 36: Like the roar of trees and crack of

**Chapter 36. Like the roar of trees and crack of branches**

_by Vivienne_

(Author's note: This first part is set back before Bart's death. The original was lost during the board-shift, this is a rewrite.)

"Now, ma'am, before you start..."

"Now don't you 'ma'am' me, bird." Viv was rocked back by the fox's riposte. "I'm supposed t'be sendin' Kapler t'find David, an' that's orders from th'abbot, not some untrustworthy, fast-talkin' bird with a gaggle underclaw. I 'ope ya don't mind tellin' me what these games are ya're playin' at."

"Untrustworthy?" Viv's brows dropped at the corners to an aggrieved angle.

"Yes! I'm not daft, Miss Vivienne! Only thin' faster than yar beak is yar eyes. I can't trust ya as far as I can spit ya. Flyin' out of nowhere, listenin' in when we first met ya, and ya always got yar beak in anywhere it can fit."

"Well, now I think that's just unfair," Viv replied, shooing her brood away from the scene, "I can be quite -"

"Look, it comes down t'this." Vidya said, lowering her tone. "We're supposed t'be 'elpin' these beasts out, that Doctor an' 'is great weapon, ya an' those kits... I need t'know what ya got up those feather so I don't 'ave t'keep an eye on ya. I've already got one mess of trouble campin' next t'my wagons." The vixen added, _sotto voce_: "An' I know what Kapler's best at."

Viv regarded this a moment, before replying, "Fine, fine, I'll be prudent enough with him, I promise. I just need another pair of eyes to look after things, after all."

The explanation quailed under Vidya's frown and hid behind Viv's tailfeathers, dying the quiet death of all white lies.

"I'll at least keep him out of trouble." Viv tacked on, with a feather-ruffling huff.

"Keep yarself out, while ya're at it. An' make sure 'e finds David." The vixen spun on her heel and started off, her brush flicking violently, as if trying to remove its own snowy tip.

* * *

There is a certain kind of day in winter when beasts, especially dibbuns, seem to regress to their most primitive selves. Maybe it was the lack of sunlight causing the down behind their eyes to build up. Maybe it was the dried food - only so many things can be kept over winter and eventually the same flavors drive the tongue mad. Maybe it was simply the dust gathering in their nose and throat, choking off the frost-colored air.

No matter the cause, Vivienne's brood had finally gone feral. The clearing outside the nest was a slushed mudpit, frothed to a furry fury by the mass of bodies wrestling in it. Fresh snow was brought in shifts for snowballs, snowbeasts, and snowbeatings. Like a new loaf that's kept in an old cellar, however, it was soon tinged dark by the mess from the clearing.

The wren herself was flitting about, hauling bodies from briers, cuffing errant ears and trying to chatter over the din, a single instrument lost in the symphony.

"Cheskers! You get your paws off of that rock!"

"Jinck, Jinck! Where is that layabout when I -"

"Burrley! We do not use trowels in such a manner!"

"'ey!" A clear tenor broke over the madness, stilling the crowing flock. Vidya and her son stood nearby, eyeing the scene before them. The lad spoke up again, his voice full of bravado, "'oo 'ere 'as seen a fox jump clear over a wagon?"

It was an absurd statement, which of course meant all activities ceased save a glacial sidling of the young ones toward the tod.

"Yer bluffin'," one mouse piped up, adding a flick of mud for emphasis.

"I suppose ya better come with an' make sure," Tandava said. He then began strolling off toward the gypsy wagons, whistling lightly.

As one, the Mottlefeathers turned plaintive eyes on their brood mother.

"Oh, go on, then. Mind you keep the mud off of Miss Vidya's pretty wagons, though!" She called out.

And with a cheer, the Mottlefeathers followed the fox, disappearing around a curve in the orchard and leaving behind the echoes of their merriment. Vivienne sat back on her haunches. Her shoulders sagged as she clutched a forgotten cap close. "Mites and eggrot..."

"Looks like ya're runnin' a bit be'ind them today, mama 'en." Viv could hear the smirk.

"They've never quite been so... then again, I've never had so many..." The wren stood, set the hat aside, and looked back at the entrance to her home. "It was Dibbun Bloodwrath, I tell you. An unquenchable urge to destroy..."

"Come on, then. I need a word with ya, an' Tandava an' th' girls will keep them busy for a while."

"I don't suppose you mind if I fly?" Viv asked. "The snow can be a bit..."

Vidya nodded. "Go on, then."

"So, what is it you needed to talk to me about?" Viv asked.

"Ya remember that great, giant crossbow th' doctor was makin'?"

"Of course, it's hard to miss," Viv said.

"Th' one meant t'scare off th' Red Fire Army..." Vidya waved a paw, indicating a further point.

"Yes?"

"Th' one in th' middle of th' abbey lawn?"

The bird pulled a face and alighted on a nearby branch. "Those daft - they left it out on the lawns? No. They did, I remember seeing it yesterday, just with all the... I hadn't even thought about it."

Vidya leaned against the tree and tilted her head up, regarding a point just past Vivienne. "I already 'ad my sister's 'usband gather a group t'move it inside, but ya'd think this lot would 'ave 'alf a mind t'cover it, at least."

"I've noticed that the minds here are specialized," Viv replied. "Long on linguistics, short on sense."

"An' I doubt they've got much of a mind for what a strong back can do. Those wallgates need lookin' t' if they're gonna keep out a beast like th' badger."

Vivienne made a face at the lean-to village not far from her own nest - a leprous sore on the face of the abbey grounds. "I'm more worried about what we're keeping in. They're saying he has hostages, now. In the walls."

"Part of me's glad t'ave them about." Viv's eyes widened at that, but any comment she might muster was cut off within a moment. "I'm not sayin' I like 'is kin, bird. Never found a murderer I could stand. But a couple dozen bodies between me an' that creature outside?"

"True enough. Let's go see about those gates, then. We can find that weasel of mine afterward to see about getting some eyes watching that scab-ridden lot, and then check in on the doctor's project." The wren took off, her wings beating a brisk march.

Vidya followed along at a stride, grinning upward. "Ever thought you'd 'ave t'elp play nursemaid t' an entire abbey, never mind their kits?"

Her cheeky remark went unanswered. A wisp of reed blew in front of Viv, catching her eye.

_Hmm? That looks exactly like the -_

The march sped to a scherzo, as Viv dipped down toward the abbey walls.

The south wallgate hadn't exactly exploded. That would have been loud enough to attract a crowd. Instead, it was as if a giant set of jaws had taken a bite out of the door. Bits of wicker reed still drifted in the morning air, ashes from some great ruin.

Viv began chittering under her breath. "Black feathers of the Crowmother it's here it's here and we'll never make it out in time. Even if I got 'em inside and caved in the Nest's entrance... but we'd never get through the soil it's too hard, and if he saw some smoke or a mound from Burrley... and they're all just cavorting about, but what if -"

A sharp smack sent the wren stumbling forward, and her beak clacked against itself, leaving Viv dazed, aching, and surly. The source of her newfound headache spoke up from behind her: "Ya daft bird. Look."

Snow speckled the fur of a large, brown lump next to the gate. "That's... that's Skipper, Vidya. No other otter's that..." The bird hopped closer, peering down at the figure. Her voice was strained, like the morning after a loud fight with the flock. "He's just been crushed. Oh, eggrot, you know what -"

"Ssst!" Vidya covered the babbling beak and dropped her voice to a hiss. "Look, stop motherin' - be a mother - be practical. Get t'th' abbot an' let 'im know it's in. I'll go round up yar lot an' my family. If we can slip inside th' main 'all with that weapon, we've got a chance - only one door 'e can get in through, an' we'll 'ave that whole encampment between us an' it if they don't catch on."

Viv nodded in her forced silence. After Vidya released her maw, the wren asked. "You'll... make sure they know their Mama's coming, right? And I'll be right down as soon as I let him know."

"Get on, Viv. No time for weepin' confessions. I'll do what I 'ave t', as long as you do, too."

Viv set her beak and gave a short nod. She took off, this time leaving behind a real wasteland, instead of a play one.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid bird! Why are you trusting some ragamuffin you've known for a shorter span than your last molt to take care of your Mottlefeathers! And Jinck!_

_She's a mother, too._

_Oh, aye, and I suppose that makes it better? Never a tipped nest or emptied egg in your laying seasons, then?_

_They'll be fine. Jinck's always got his head about him._

_If he's even there. And it's not being tugged by the chin by a pretty vixen_.

Viv willed the air to part for her and pushed aside those fears; she ducked her head and fought the winds, then veered and caught the shear.

The abbey windows flickered past until she caught a glance of dun fur just tinged with gray: the abbot breaking fast.

Viv tucked her wings and broke from the building's winds, darting into the window, brushing the shutters aside with her cold shoulders, and bringing a bluster of breezes with her. A mini cyclone brought her news before she could, as it attempted to recreate the scene below with the contents of the abbot's desk.

"Great Fates... Vivienne, what on earth -" Cloverleaf stopped short, likely at the bird's expression.

"It's here, Father Abbot. The badger's in. And Skipper's..." She shook her head and clacked her beak, dislodging the news that tried to stick in her crop. "He's dead, father. He must've been on patrol..."

"What do you... you must be mistaken!" The vole stood, his expression turning sour. "We locked it out. And our gates have withheld worse than him!"

"The wicker gates, father. They've been... well, it wasn't enough."

He sat back down hard, eliciting a groan from his chair. The abbot emitted one in harmony. "And with half the woods in here with us..."

A half-forgotten memory tickled the back of Vivienne's mind, causing the recently-smacked flesh to ache in resentment. "Wait a second, father..."

"And the Red Fire Army... where would we put them?"

_It's right there, isn't it? This badger... something about…_

"No Skipper or Foremole? Who'll take care of -" The abbot continued.

"The book!" Viv cried out, casting about the room for the tome. "Kapler told me there was a book here, something about the badger."

The abbot's tone turned for the worse, coming out in an annoyed chitter. "There's no time for silly buggers, Vivienne. I've beasts to appoint and a building to fill to the rafters. Now scurry along and see to your... whatever they are. Feathermutts."

"No time? We need information on this creature, father! Just give me a few moments with that text, I could see -"

"Stop taking liberties with my time, Miss Vivienne. Do as I told you. And fetch me... some one. The Friar, I suppose, on the way down."

_I'll be a mockingbird's governess before I let him go with this one!_

"Look, you puff-cheeked buffoon, we need that book! You think the doors will hold that thing a moment longer than the wallgates?"

"I'm still the Abbot here, and you're still nothing more than a guest I've extended my courtesy to! I can always take it back, if you're not satisfied."

The room fell silent at his threat.

"You wouldn't." She muttered.

"Get your claws off of my things, get back out that window, and see to your young ones, none of which are obviously yours, Missus-Not-Sister Vivienne. You can set up in Great Hall with the rest of the abbey's visitors, or shall I send the Badgermum along to see to the dibbuns for you?"

Vivienne's beak clapped shut and her eyes narrowed. The draft coming in felt like a zephyr in the wake of the abbot's comment.

Taking a deep breath, the wren moved to the window, keeping her bearing rigid and lofty. She leapt out without a word, making for Vidya's wagons and the Mottlefeathers.

_After the boys get that book, we should let Moonshot just know where we found it, just to see him turn that ponce's tail into a belt..._


	40. 37: When We Are Born, We Cry That We Are

**Chapter 37. When We Are Born, We Cry That We Are Come**

_by Vidya_

Vidya strode quickly across the abbey grounds towards her wagons and the gaggle of children creating the ruckus by them - but not too quickly. It wouldn't do to call too much attention to herself.

"Shudra, Nithya, get those little ones inside th' building. Their mama bird will meet them in th' 'all. Tandava, we need t'take these bigger kits an' 'elp t'get that machine inside. It's 'ere." She looked meaningfully at the tod. He nodded.

"Ma, this 'ere is Jinck." Tandava pointed out thin a weasel, taller than the rest and obviously holding some position of authority over them. "'e'll 'elp us with organizin' th' kits."

"At yer service, ma'am," the weasel responded cheekily, with a small salute to the vixen.

"Fine. Master Jinck, Tandava, you three," Vidya motioned to a mole-maid, a hare, and a stoat, "come with me."

They all trotted off; the girls accompanying the young kits to the abbey building, Vidya and the smaller group splitting off towards the great weapon that was already mostly inside the abbey. They picked up the last few pieces of the weapon and started into the abbey. It was slow going as the pieces were all large and made of wood; it took three beasts to lift each portion of it. Jinck, Tandava, and Vidya carried in the last part of the weapon.

As they brought it into the hall, they could see Vivienne herding the little kits into a game. Jinck looked over at Vidya. "Go on then," she said. "Go join them." The young weasel gathered up the other three and bounded off to the wren.

"Tandava, make sure this weapon is stored properly. I 'ave t'go warn Clare; she's still out there with that beast." Vidya hurried out the doors and over to Clare's tent. The maids were nowhere to be found, and as she neared, Vidya could hear Clare moaning.

The vixen burst in through the tent flap. "What is it, Clare?"

"The babies..." Clare gasped. "They're... coming... help, please."

Vidya helped the cat to her foot-paws. She half carried, half dragged Clare into the abbey. They went through the hall and gathered Mandara and Shudra on the way to the fox family's room.

"Shudra, we're goin' t'need a pot of boilin' water, towels, an' blankets. An' make sure that fire stays strong."

"Yes, Ma." The young vixen ran off to gather the supplies.

Mandara and Vidya helped Clare out of her dress and onto the bed. Mandara stoked the fire. Vidya brought a small table to the bedside and set one of her knives onto it. The cat looked at it in fear and shrank back as far as she could against the wall.

"Don't be scared. Th' knife is only t'cut th' cord." Vidya took Clare's paw and held on as the cat endured another contraction.

Shudra returned with the supplies and put the towels and blankets on the table with the knife. The pot with the water went over the fire.

Mandara joined Vidya and Clare on the bed. "Clare, can I look t'see if th' babies are comin'?" Clare nodded, and the vixen looked. "Clare, I can see one ready! Ya're goin' t'ave t'push now."

Vidya held Clare's paw while the first kitten was born. Mandara wrapped in a towel and handed it to Vidya to clean it off. They cut the cord and let Clare rest while they fussed over it.

Vidya hugged the newborn kitten close. She could smell the heavy, wet, musky scent of birth on it. She closed her eyes and thought about the day Tandava was born.

He had smelled the same as this little kitten. The vixen had hugged him close and had breathed in that same scent. Time had stood still for a moment as she marveled at her kit. His eyes were still scrunched closed against the blinding light that is life; his mouth was a perfect "O", nuzzling into her chest fur, looking for the right spot to suckle at. She had arranged the kit comfortably and had licked his forehead clean while he had started to nurse. Vidya had looked up at Ravi, her husband, and had smiled with tears in her eyes. He had returned her smile, his eyes also glistening. "Tandava."

Vidya opened her eyes to watch the kitten rooting through her chest fur. She was surprised to realize that she had tears in her eyes. It had been so long ago that her children were born, but any birth was still a miracle to the vixen.

"Vidya, are ya alright?" Mandara was looking at her sister quizzically.

She quickly brushed the tears from her eyes and answered her sister. "I'm fine, Mandara."

Vidya put the quietly mewling kitten near his mother. He burrowed into her and started to suckle. "'e looks like ya, Clare. 'e's goin' t'be a 'andsome young cat."

In a few minutes, Clare began to gasp again. Vidya took the kitten away and gave him to Shudra. Vidya and Mandara helped her through this birth, too. "It's another boy. Looks like 'is Da."

After a bit, another wriggling kitten followed. "A girl this time, Clare. Pretty as 'er Ma."

The last one wasn't moving. It didn't mew. Vidya rubbed the kitten through the towel. And again. Nothing happened. She addressed the mother sadly, "Clare, this one didn't make it. Ya want t'say goodbye before I take it out?"

Clare cuddled the poor kitten close. She handed it back to Vidya. "Take it now," she said tearfully.

"Lets let 'er rest. Mandara, Shudra, come on." The vixens left Clare with her babies. They took the kitten to another room and lit a fire.

"Go on. I'll take care of this," Vidya said. "I'll come down for dinner after."

* * *

Vidya returned to the fox family's room with some broth for Clare; her kittens were mewling loudly.

The tray clattered to the floor. The kittens were nestled into a couple of blankets on the floor near the fire. Clare's clothing was gone, along with its owner.

Glancing about the small room in vain, the vixen ran over to the mass of wriggling kittens. She picked them up along with the blankets. _I'll just 'ave t'look after them._ Vidya set off to look for some milk for the hungry babies.


	41. 38: Tell Me, Are You Nervous

**Chapter 38. Tell Me, Are You Nervous?**

_by Kapler_

_And the sky will fall down on you and the world still turns around, round, round._

_And the sky will fall down on you as your life goes on down, down, down._

"Where do you think 'e's got it hid?" A young voice not often heard in the Abbot's personal abode. It sounded inexperienced and shallow seeping into the ancient walls. Even Jinck's ginger gait looked out of place, irreverent. Important things happened in this room.

Kapler stepped much more cautiously, keeping the solemn walls against his back. "How about the desk?"

Jinck nodded and skipped to the desk with the giddy energy of amateurs. Drawers began to slide open, grinding wooden teeth revealing their decaying contents.

This is stupid. Stealing something he had already stolen? It just wasn't something he did. _But if this is what it takes for Miss Viv to trust-_

"Bah, fathermolt. Nothin'." Jinck growled and slammed the last drawer shut.

Kapler frowned. "Seems the type to hide it there. Huh." Not much else in here. He rubbed his paws, trying to massage away the beginnings of a twitch. "I'll search the closet. Keep looking out here."

"Yeah, arright."

With measured tread, Kapler slipped through a doorway and found himself surrounded by plain, brown habits. No pockets there. He peered at the sill just out of reach. Only one shelf. Bag on the floor, stand on the stool. Paws feeling around the dusty ledge. Nothing but a couple of rotted acorn shells. Probably took it with him. He slipped a shell into his pocket.

A rustling behind him. "You look in 'ere?"

Kapler glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah, not much in-that's mine!" He stumbled off the stool. "Give it back."

Jinck danced away and reached under the flap. "What in...shoes?" The weasel held up a boot, peering curiously at it. "Wait, this'n Dr. Spikehead's, even! Lucky th' abbot goes bare, eh?"

Everything was coming apart now. Fear and anger rolled through Kapler like a wave, cresting up his shoulders, rolling down his arms, breaking in his fists. Ferocious energy that wanted an outlet, needed an outlet, and found it.

Jinck toppled backwards from the blow and collapsed against the wall amidst a pile of footwear.

Kapler loomed over him, savage growl building. "Those are mine!"

"Zephyrs, Kap!" Jinck's paws scrabbled against the wooden floor, trying to push him through the wall. "Sorry! 'm sorry! Said'msorry!"

_I didn't mean to, father!_

All the energy drained away, and Kapler slumped forward against the wall. It was cool - soothing against his brow. He stared down at the frightened Jinck, like looking in a mirror. "No, I'm...I didn't mean to." Sliding down next to Jinck, he gathered up the shoes and slipped them back into his satchel. They didn't seem important at all now. No different. He hid his face in his arms.

The room fell into the grasp of an awkward silence.

After several long minutes, Jinck wet his lips. "Look. . .I ain't gonna-"

"Think he keeps anything under his bed?" Kapler leapt up and to the Abbot's bed. With enthusiasm he didn't have, he peered into the gloomed shadows. "Hello, what's this?" Like pulling dirt clods from the ground, Kapler began dragging out bulging haversacks until a tottering pile rose from the floor. The very last treasure to emerge was a worn-looking journal. "Aha! Here it is!" A cursory glance assured he was right, and Kapler slipped it into his coat pocket.

Jinck, meanwhile, let out a low whistle. "This'll spoil th' old squirrel's scone." The open sack in his paws near overflowed with dried fruit. "Shoulda known he'd have a stash - old habits die hard." He sniggered at his own joke.

Kapler shook his head and began shoving the edibles back into their hiding spots. "No! We can't tell anyone about this."

Flat ears plastered themselves to Jinck's head. "What? Why not? Jus' 'cause Viv asked you. . ."

"We talk, we get asked questions. They'll want to know how we know there's food up here."

"Ye' came up here t' fork over t' journal, right? Just say you saw 't then."

"No, that won't work." Halfway under the bed, Kapler paused. It might-it could work but- Images of an angry Abbot - angry at _him_ - crept through his mind as if afraid of being noticed. He shoved the food with a grunt of exertion. "Won't work. He knew I couldn't have seen anything. I, uh, I was sitting at the desk."

"Fine." Jinck gathered up an armful of sacks. "But 'm takin' these with me."

"What?" Kapler scuffled to pull free of the bed's embrace. "Where d'you think you're going with all that?"

"Miss Viv'd kill me - I'd kill me - if I didn't bring some'f this stuff back."

"Fine, okay. Just-just don't tell anyone where you got it."

Jinck rolled his eyes. "I'm not-"

"Shh!" Footsteps outside the door. _Oh no no no no!_ Kapler stared at Jinck. The weasel looked almost as terrified as Kapler felt. Before he could dive behind the bed, a knock. He stopped breathing.

"Abbot Cloverleaf?" Muffled by several inches of wood, the voice was still unsettlingly loud, brawny like an otter. "You in there?" Other voices murmured indistinct nothings. The strong voice responded in similar manner. After what sounded like disagreeable deliberations, the voices moved away.

As if to make up for lost time, Kapler's heart started drumming doubly fast. Counting to eight, he cracked open the door and peered out. No one in sight. "Let's go!" Clutching his bag tight to his chest, he led the exodus down the hallways. He was just beginning to relax when he rounded a corner and nearly skewered himself on Dr. Song. His foot caught on Russel's and sent him tumbling forward. Before he could crash into the tiled flooring, paws grabbed his shoulders and righted him.

"Oh! Hello Kap! What're you two about?"

Wide-eyed and disheveled, Kapler stared at Russel. His paws tried to strangle each other. "I, uh, that is Jinck here-"

"I was just on my way to see Miss Viv. Bye!" Without looking Russel in the eye, Jinck shot Kapler a grin, then loped down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

Kapler swallowed and bit his lip. It took all his strength not to go sprinting after Jinck.

Russel ran a careful paw through his headspikes. "Yes, well. What have you got this time, Kap?"


	42. 39: Why is it I can remember what

**Chapter 39. Why is it I can remember what happened thirty years ago...**

_by Russel_

_"...but I can't remember what I had for breakfast?"_

Russel looked at the hall. Five picture frames, which meant ten bolts into the wall for them. Four doors from his vantage point equaled eight hinges. One window with a rather impressive hinge mechanism at the top of the stair, which in turn was bolted into the wall with thirty-five screws; it had lost one a long time ago when he'd borrowed it as a dibbun and never returned it. He knew this corridor. Everything important about it, at least. He still didn't know why he was supposed to be there.

Closing his eyes didn't help. That just got him thinking about the length and width of the hall and how one measurement related to another. At least the corridor he was supposed to visit wasn't anywhere near the great hall. He'd barely been able to get out of the way when the commotion to get everybeast inside began. The badger was on their doorstep, now.

The percussion of what could only be a medicine cart clattered down the hallway. Burrowed in the rhythm of glass beating against metal was a groan from the hog. His swift opening eyes fell upon a familiar face.

"Good day, Doctor Song!"

"Good day, Noah. Replenishing the infirmary stores, I see."

The shrew nodded. "Aye. As a gesture of goodwill, the Abbot told us to treat some of the Redfire's what were injured in the battle yesterday."

"Mm."

"Is something the matter?" When no answer was given, the shrew smiled knowingly. "There's not much you can hide from me, Doctor Song, I know that look."

Russel shook his head, spikes clattering like the cart. "It's nothing, really. Sorry about the cleanup the other night, by the way."

The shrew nodded solemnly. "Aye. Still looking for the blighter who done it. Skip questioned his crew. None of them confessed and you know they'd tell ol' Scallops anything. They're making their way through a few potential leads as we speak."

With nothing more to say, the hog simply nodded, leaving Noah to his work. The scent of medicine, musky and fermented, stretched a tendril to the hog's nose. He shook his head and screwed up his eyes at the sensation.

_What do you want me to do?_

The words clattered in his brain as the cart through the hall. They were devoid of tone, more the whisper of pages scraping against one another than dialog. Russel couldn't tell who was saying what. His brow knit as he concentrated on drawing more out into the open.

_What's the logical thing to do?_

_I'm not the one to be asking, and you're sure there's nothing else?_

_Not that I can find, no. But, even this?_

_Something else?_

Sombeast gave a pained look, though if he were on the receiving end of it, the hog could not be certain. Somebeast explained that there was something else, a fact that only worsened the situation.

Dull, warm pain shot through his backside as a footpaw collided with him. The blurred figure of a vole Russel instantly recognized soon began to tumble towards the ground, leaving the doctor precious seconds to seize him.

"Oh! Hello, Kap! What are you two about?" He noted the vole wasn't alone; Jinck stood over him, clearly wanting to be away, with or without Kapler.

"I, uh, that is Jinck here -"

"I was just on my way to see Miss Viv. Bye!"

Before Russel could so much as gesticulate for the weasel to stay put, Jinck was off. Shrugging, he set about helping Kapler to his feet.

"What have you got this time, Kap?"

It was readily apparent that Kapler did not want to make eye-contact with Russel, something which set the hog's ears twitching and spikes flaring in alertness.

"Sorry, sorry! I was just...got a little excited is all..."

His eyes were on the floor, looking as though they were sifting through a colony of ants. The hog knelt down to pick up the leather-bound square which had lodged itself into his heel during Kapler's fall.

"Found it!" he proclaimed, holding it aloft just out of the vole's reach. "You won't mind if I take a peek, though? Can't resist a weathered book."

_And apparently, neither can you._

Clearly, this book wasn't one from his study. He never forgot a spine, thought a title often escaped him. Any object Kapler had pilfered aside from a book would have gotten him a firm scolding from Russel and a quick march back to its owner but with such history literally falling into him, the hog found it easier to forgive and, if not forget, delay.

His eyes went as wide as jeweler's loupes when they fell upon a complicated passage.

"Where did you get this?"

Kapler shuffled his footpaws. That was something David used to do when he knew he had done something wrong.

"Kapler, any other time I probably wouldn't care, so long as you returned it once you were done, but I know this didn't just happen to be lying around the abbey. You need to tell me where."

The vole stayed silent but his eyes told Russel that there was somebeast behind him. He turned as swift as a well oiled hinge and in one smooth movement stowed the book in the waistband of his trousers at his backside, underneath his coat - he had forgotten to take it off since last night.

"Cromley, was it? Pleasure to meet you."

The hog received what he thought might be a nod.

"Yes, well."

This was usually the segment of the conversation dedicated to , "best be going's" or "good day's" but the cat continued to stand there, his thick coat seeming just an extension of himself while he gave Russel a look not unlike the kind Solgrim had given him a few times before. Russel heard Kapler cough behind him.

"I thought I might be able to observe the badger from this floor," said Cromley at long last, his words sounding measured down to the half-inch. "Good elevation, excellent visibility today. I thought he might still be prowling the grounds, if he hasn't exited to the woodlands yet."

Russel gave a short smile. He took a step towards the cat although Cromley's expression told him not to.

"Ah, fascinating beastie, isn't it? Have to commend its tenacity, trying to find a creature it seems to have never met."

"Hm. Tenacious is but a few steps away from foolish. It's locked in a futile struggle. It's creator is probably miles away by now, dead and buried."

"Well, now, he doesn't know that for a fact and I'd say neither do you."

Cromley continued to look dubious. He was starting to remind Russel of another feline he knew.

"If I know nothing, you know decidedly less. He has no leads, not even the slightest clue about who this Professor is. Better off he take his own life then perish from the elements, as he seems bound to."

"And yet he's still going, eh? Isn't that wonderful? Still pushing on after all of this time. See, the odds aren't important. I mean, from an outsider's point of view, sure, you could talk on and on about numbers and charts, sure, but when you're in the equation, numbers don't factor in. You move. You persist. And you know, that's the only way to know, isn't it?"

"A mediocre analysis at best."

The hog's eyebrows did a little dance in cadence with the cackle at the back of his thoat. "Mediocre? Someone needs to double-check their definition of that term."

" _'Neither good nor bad; average; ordinary; commonplace. Usually used disparagingly'_ I do believe that is the correct definition, point for point."

This got a cough and a nod from the hog, along with the slight clatter of spikes.

"Impressive. Well, Kap and I are very busy, you see, big experiment going on." He leaned in close to the wildcat, speaking as though he was conspiring against the empty space. "Lots of bits involving cheese." Then at normal volume and personal space, "But, _you've_ got lots of important second-in-command stuff to take care of, don't you, so I won't delay in letting you go. Don't want to detain a beast who hasn't done anything wrong. By the way, how's Foremole doing?"

"Intact. We are keeping close watch over him," said Cromley.

Russel tried very, very hard not to roll his eyes and scoff. "Right. I'm sure an old mole about yay-high who has trouble cutting his bread, let alone managing to stab a hare about two sizes bigger than him needs round-the-clock supervision."

"What, pray tell, is a clock?"

Russel smiled as he began to exit with Kapler. " _'Something which I have that you know nothing about'_ I believe that is the definition, point for point. Good day.'

When he was sure they were well enough away from the mangy cat with the messy coat, Russel allowed himself ample time to seethe before turning in Kapler.

"Kap, why did you steal this from the large, scary cat in the other room, the one who looks like he'd eat you in a second and not even catch indigestion from it, let alone feelings?"

The vole threw his paws into the air. "I didn't steal it from Cromley!"

"Borrowed. Conveniently walked out with it but was sure you meant to pay for it. Semantics don't mater. Why did you take it?"

"I already said I didn't take it from Cromley, not this time."

Russel crouched down at eye level, which was a silly thing to do since he actually didn't have to crouch all that far.

"Kapler ... I'm not going to tell anybeast, swear it. I;ll let you keep my shoes.:

They had gone missing awhile ago. It was only logical where they had wandered off to. Frosted footpaws be damned but he was willing to make the sacrifice.

Though the slight red underneath the fur on Kaple;'s cheeks seemed to say that particular offer didn;t sit well, the vole conceded at last. :The abbot had it.:

"The abbot stole it from Cromley?"

"No, I stole... it wasn't the abbot."

"Wait, so...Cromley had them, then you stole them, then the abbot stole them from you and you stole it back?"

"No." The vole stopped, then barely breathed, "I stole it, gave it to the abbot, then took it back."

"What?"

"I know! It doesn't make sense."

"But why? And why didn't you tell me? This book, it's filled with notes on that badger. With something like this I could find a way to stop it and oh my goodness this was what David was talking about, wasn't it?"

Russel hit himself in the face with the worn book, whispering apologies to it swiftly afterward. David had mentioned at least three times he should go to the abbot and take a look at an important book he'd come across. His mind, however, was on the note and the corridor.

"I...someone asked me to get it."

"Who?"

No answer.

"Kapler, please."

* * *

"Can I interest you in some tea, Miss Vivienne?"

The wren shook her head. "That's very kind of you, David, but tea is the last thing I need at the moment." She smiled at the older hog. "Your son is well mannered as always, I see."

"Yes. Quite. And yours?"

Vivienne looked at the ceiling as though her thoughts were floating about. "Oh, absolute terrors all, this morning. Didn't think I'd ever be able to round them up to get them inside."

The hog nodded. Omni-present was the steady mechanized heart beat of the clock. He would have turned it off before Vivienne came in, if he remembered how.

"I'm sure you've discovered by now I didn't invite you here for a simple chit-chat."

The hog set the book upon the table as the clock continued to count the seconds of pregnant silence in between the small clatter and the wren speaking.

"Doctor Song, I can assure you there was a very good reason for sending Kapler to retrieve this book."

He laughed. "Mm-hm, I should hope so. Go on, then."

"If that book was found in the paws of our abbot after it disappeared from the Redfire Army camp, what then? It's one thing if a random woodlander steals it, especially if he's an outsider, no offense meant, Kapler. But it's another thing if the leader of an entire abbey, one that was on the receiving end of the army's attack not a day ago, is found with stolen property. There would be all out war."

The hog gave a short, amused laugh. "I see, I see. So having a vole go gallivanting through the halls with the stolen book, where any of the score or so vermin who now roam the halls could see him, was much safer?"

"It would have been about as safe as a ballista sitting out on the abbey lawn where anybeast could easily spirit it away."

Russel bit his lip and gave the table in between them a lopsided stare. He'd meant to move that, he knew he did. He just had...things to take care of. Lots of things.

"Right. Sorry. But, Vivienne, and this is a big but, David, stop chuckling, you're more mature than that! What did you plan to do with the book once you had it?"

"Keep it safe. Perhaps find a way to take care of our badger problem."

"Oh, Vivs..." Russel rubbed his temples, clattering his spikes together as he shook his head. "Vivs, Vivs, Vivs, Vivs...I'm honestly hurt, you know that? All this knowledge, all this science and you didn't think to invite me to take a look?"

" did tell you about the book, Dad."

"I know, David. Had things to do. Things."

"Doctor Song, nobeast could know that I was moving the book. If I told you, I risked the entire abbey knowing."

Russel rested his face in his paws. He cast a glance toward David.

"What do you think?"

The young hog paused, barely looking up from his script practice to answer his father. "Miss Vivienne does have a point. It seems like it's hard enough to figure out what that Moonshot fellow is going to do when he's acting normally, let alone out of anger." He looked at the wren. "You really should have told my dad, though, he can keep his gob shut. When he wants to."

"Let's set aside the ownership of the book. I don't want to waste my time trying to convince you to give it back to the abbot when you're clearly not going to."

The hog sighed. He certainly would not enjoy lying to the abbot's face if and when he asked if he knew anything about where the book had gone. But he had seen what was inside of those worn covers. It was like, well, just reading a page out of a journal; you couldn't stop at just a small peek, you had to devour the whole thing.

"I'll...not tell anybeast about who has the book if you let me keep it here. Nobeast is getting into my study save me, David and Kapler. And maybe Solgrim, but the book will be in my shelves and I don't see him as one to do some light midnight reading. Just let me read through it because I'm sure there's something in there that can help us."

It was Vivienne's turn to shut her eyes in contemplation. That steadily infuriating clock ticked out a full tattoo before the slightest churp was returned.

"I will let you keep the book if you promise me you'll use it to destroy that badger."

"Miss Viv, I'm sure there's other ways..."

"Don't you 'Miss Viv' me, Mister Song. You aren't about to tell me you haven't seen what that thing did to that poor soldier who went back for his son. And haven't you heard about the Skipper?"

"Scallops? Talked to him over breakfast just today. Yesterday, rather. Well, a week ago. I think."

"He's dead."

"He..."

They'd talked about...what had they talked about? David, that was right. David and how he was growing up into a fine young hog. Skipper joked at how he might just draft him to help with the other otters, strong lad he was growing into. The Doctor found himself lost in staring at something on the table before he came back to reality.

H"e...the badger got to him, we know that much. He's too dangerous to reason with. You should know that. You tried."

Russel took a deep breath that felt nowhere near large or long enough to fill his lungs.

"You're right, Vivienne, you're right." He hated himself, then. More than that, he hated that he was doing this in front of his son. "Time comes after I've looked through this book, I...won't hesitate to end the badger."

"Then we have a deal."

Paw shook claw. Vivienne excused herself shortly after. The little ones were surely up and about and she wasn't at all sure Jinck could take care of them on his lonesome. Doctor Song continued to stare at the table, vaguely aware of his son hovering over him.

"Dad, you don't meant to say...that is, you're going to...you're going to kill that thing?"

With eyes glassy as the vials in his alchemic tools, the hog turned to face his son. The corners of his lips twitched. A laugh, starting in his belly and boiling over out of his mouth issued from Russel as he jumped to his feet.

"... 'Course not, David, 'course not. Always more than one way around. Hand me those vials over there, will you?"

"But you promised miss Viv."

"I lied."

His son, looking impressed, of all things, wagged his finger, mock-scolding his father. "But you said, when I was a little kit, lying is bad, that it's never all right."

"That was a lie, too. Now..."

He cradled the book as though it were a child, flicking through the pages like he was stroking it. Coming upon the sought after passage, the hog began laughing as though he had trodden onto a pile of feathers.

"Yes, yes yes!"

David grabbed the vials as quick as he could before they were knocked over by the resulting pounding on the table.

"Must really learn not to do that. Now, this section right here, you know what this is? Oh, come now, David, I've taught you better, you should know what this is."

"It's...it's a formula."

The hog nodded, sending much a clatter of spines to join the already echoing clock.

"Right! Splendid job, my boy, splendid! It says right here, the Professor managed to create a compound to stimulate the badger's adrenal glands."

"What are those?"

"They're like...I'd imagine it's like sanguinary glands or some such. Makes the big fellow all spry and quick. So, that means that I might just be able to study this compound and come up with a counter-measure, dose the badger with it and wham-oo!"

He noticed his son flinch. The doctor curled up a bit, embarrassed.

"Sorry! Wham-oo," he whispered. "So, I'll need you to set it these tools up in the usual formation, you should know it now, and then I'll need..."

The words died in his throat as he saw Kaper off to one side on a stool, contemplating his footpaws. Frowning, Russel approached him, putting an arm over his shoulder.

"Right then, Kap, really important job I need you to do."

"You're just saying that, aren't you?"

"No, this time I'm serious. I need you to go down to the infirmary, tell Mister Vale that I need to restock the essentials; he'll know what I mean. Then, I need you to see Brother Quincy and ask him if he had any records about someone named Professor Fallis. Got that?"

The vole nodded. Russel gave him a hearty pat on the back and sent him out of the room, leaving he and David alone. At least until a feline figure padded into the room, obviously intent on hiding from somebeast. The hog immediately assumed it was Cromley and readied his first verbal barrage, but found he was very mistaken when the short-haired cat turned, a babe in a sling around his front.

"Look," the cat commanded, holding out the child.

The hog breathed deep.

"Is that yours?"

A stolen book was one thing, a stolen kit he didn't think he could deal with.


	43. 40: Marked Cross from the Womb

**Chapter 40. Marked Cross from the Womb**

_by Benedict_

"I love all my children equally!"

[earlier that day]

"I don't care for Gob."

- Lucille Bluth, _Arrested Development_

* * *

Benedict scowled at the darkening sky. They didn't ring vespers at Redwall. When he was a kit he'd sit on the palazzo balcony at dusk and watch boat-beasts scull the lagoon. At the bell, they came to dock. Their rowboats darted past ships like cockroaches on a table, skittering past the tea service before a servant caught them.

He sniffled, then clapped his paws his together.

"Cromley!" he bawled. "Fat old tom! Come out and face me!"

"Darkqueen's dugs." A ferret stuck his head out the tent flap. "Have off it. He isn't here."

"I'll tear your throat out with my own teeth," he said. He staggered forward. "I'll do it. Cromley!"

The ferret ducked inside. Something thumped into Benedict's shoulder, and he fell. He flopped and wriggled in the snow, and finally snatched at the prize: a waxed-canvas boot with a woven sole. The bitter-ochre smells of sweat and musk dribbled out. He nibbled the laces.

"Ya're drunk." The old vixen stood over him.

"No." He scowled. "They've got her. They took her away."

"Clare?"

He pulled the bootlaces out from their grommets and stretched them tight, like a garrotte. "I came back and she'd run. Troia."

Vidya cuffed him. "Watch yar tongue. I know foul things when I 'ear them." He cursed at her, and she cuffed him again. "Clare came t'me an' left me with 'er babies."

"She- left them?"

"Aye." She dragged him up by his scruff. "Follow me."

They crept through the camp. He wound and unwound the laces around his wrist. Clare might have made kittens with her bashful, folded ears. They'd look silly on sons. "What do they look like?"

"Be quiet. Th' creature's about."

"If it were here," he said, "there would be- noise. Beasts would scream."

There, in the shadow of the wall, on the other side of an abbey, in the orchard. It might have come for him outside the tent.

"Then it's waitin'."

"It has to be in the woods. It didn't get me. Old cow."

"Ya act like a brat just crawled out th' womb," Vidya said. She splayed her paws on the abbey door and pushed. "Ya 'aven't any manners, no matter where ya come from. An' I don't care for yar voice."

The three kittens lay in a squirming pile on a blanket in Vidya's room. They were eyeless, small as grubs; he feared for a moment Clare had birthed monsters, but Vidya picked one up and handed it to him.

It squirmed and squalled like a tiny trumpet. He took the wriggling bundle and folded it inside his tunic, so it could nestle against his chest. It bawled, and pricked him with tiny claws.

"She only wants 'er Ma." Vidya took up the other tw. "I 'adn't expected Clare t'do it. She's a mama now."

"Give them to me. I'll find her." Benedict held out his paws.

"An' you'll do what?" Vidya said. "'Ow will ya nurse them? I 'alf wager you'll stick them in a sack an' drown them."

"I would not." His paws smelled like soft new fur, like sweetgrass and dust. "Show me how you swaddle them."

"Ya won't 'ave them. I told ya that." Her two charges nuzzled at her breast. "There was a fourth, a stillborn. I'm sorry fer ya- ya'll want the ashes."

He met her gaze, bile-prickling wary, and she went out the door. She would scrape the gray, flaking bonemeal into a glossy wooden box and he did not want it. What would he do? Scatter it on the snow, keep the nameless flesh-and-firewood in a marble urn? He examined his daughter, turning her over in his paws. Her fur was thin. He pinched the pinked flesh of her belly and she shrieked; he tucked her into his tunic.

The door swung open without noise. He padded down the hall, staring at his footpaws. He thought he heard somebeast, and ducked into a room, thankfully empty. He tore the sheet from a cot, looped it about his shoulders and pinned it with his broach, so the kit could nestle in it. He thought he heard Vidya shout, and hurtled up the stairs. The whole of the abbey had gone to the Great Hall- it was easy to slink and sneak his way to Doctor Song's study.

"Look." He held out the kitten.

"Is that yours?" The hedgehog's snout wrinkled.

"The old vixen is keeping them from me," he said. "She does not want me to have what is mine."

"Is your wife well?"

"I don't know."

"Benedict, can I see the kit?"

"No." He cradled her. "Do they not open their eyes? When do they open their eyes?"

"I don't know that. Sit."

"You can have my chair," said Russel's son.

"Do you have anything?" Benedict ran a paw over Russel's bookshelf. "Anything on kits? Their science? I want to know."

"Sit, really."

"What is this?" Benedict shoved aside the bottles on one shelf; a vial fell to the floor, and he swept it away with his footpaw. He held out a flask of dark green glass, its mouth and the cork gummed viscid-black. "This is mine."

"Yes." Russel reached out for it. "I found it. I'm sorry, I'm very sorry-"

"You stole from me."

"I meant to give it back to you. Really, I did." Russel held out his paw to Benedict. "I forgot. That's my own fault- I am so sorry."

"No!" He stamped his paw. "You lied to me."

"This is unnecessary," said the hog. "Really-"

"He did it, didn't he? That vole- or him?" Benedict spun on the hog-child. "What did you think it was?"

"I didn't think anything. Dad!"

"Now, he had nothing to do with that." Russel grabbed the back of Benedict's tunic. Benedict spun around, and smacked the hog. He felt his claws snag flesh. Russel met his blow with a thunderous punch to the nose. Benedict kept the kit in the crook of one arm and slapped furiously at Russel with his other paw.

"Stop it!" said David. "I mean it-"

"I'm sorry," Russel said, panting. "I'm so sorry, I hadn't meant-"

"Thieves," Benedict spat. "You are all filthy thieves." He swatted vials off a shelf. "I will show you what you have done."

He took a book from the desk and threw it. It clattered to the floor like a felled bird. Russel leapt at it, and he hurriedly checked its dented spine. Benedict snatched it from his paws and raised it to strike the hog.

"Stop it!" David leapt at him. Benedict shoved him away. The hog-child's father rushed to his side.

Benedict tucked the book into his tunic, turned, and ran.


	44. 41: Something Bigger, Something Brighter

**Chapter 41. Something Bigger, Something Brighter**

_by Solgrim_

Solgrim was out for a walk in the woodlands.

He hoped that Brooketail's kits were keeping well through the madness infesting the redstone house.

He was never sure how to act around them - the buzzard shied away from the kits whenever they came across one another in the halls and took wing when he spied them in the courtyard. He hadn't even saved them properly; it was all that hedgehog and hare's work. Now that he thought about it, he'd heard that the hare died. He hadn't been a bad beast, Solgrim supposed.

He stopped in his tracks. The cold ruffled his pinions and stung his eyes - was that how they would talk about him when he was dead? No. They were different. He'd stained his chest feathers crimson - they'd curse his name, and he'd live on. And when he was immortalized in steel, even beasts from lands far away would know about him.

The buzzard needed an escape from the landbounds. He'd managed to convince Dr. Song to let him stay in his spot in the infirmary while the majority of Redwal's inhabitants barricaded themselves in the Great Hall. He imagined the badger tearing his way inside and smashing the neatly-packed lot of them with one swing of his armor-clad paw. All the swords and spears, every kind of blade ever owned by a beast in Mossflower Wood was worthless against the badger's might. But Solgrim would see him turned to rust on his talons.

As if his very thoughts were enough to summon his enemy, Solgrim came upon enormous pawprints. He swiveled his head around; his own claw-marks just barely dusted across the snow in comparison. A fighting style that relies entirely on strength... He followed the tracks, surprised at how neat they were, as if the badger were measuring his steps, tracking prey.

In a few wingbeats he caught sight of the towering creature, trudging slowly forward. Knowing that such a magnificent beast was his filled the buzzard with pride. He followed for a time, deadly hunters together.

"A brave creature, to follow me." Solgrim's puffed himself up. "Brave and foolish."

The badger turned. His eyes narrowed to sheer slits. "...You."

Solgrim's heart thrummed with desire. "Yes, me."

"So? You have witnessed my strength. Not even a full army of warriors can stand before me. I have broken into this stronghold, and its creatures will have no choice but to send the professor to me. As you can see, nothing can penetrate this armor. And you still think you can hurt me?"

"No. I'll kill you."

"Mm." The badger turned. "Very well. Then there is no need to talk any further. The next time we meet, I will give you no quarter."

Solgrim screeched his defiance, overcome by the thrill of danger. "Why not do it now?"

The badger didn't turn his head. "You are injured, are you not? Why else would a buzzard choose to tread the earth?" Solgrim opened his beak for a moment and then let it snap shut.

"Everybeast thinks I'm stupid," he rumbled. "The woodlanders underestimate me this way, and they will die because of it when they could spare themselves the sorrow by just telling me where the professor is. Poor fools."

There was a moment of silence as absolute as the white that engulfed the both of them.

"Do not be misguided. I could crush you where you stand. But it would be meaningless. You are an...interesting creature. I would like to see how you fight."

And with that, the badger trudged onward, deeper into the woods. Solgrim stood still for a moment, snowflakes diamond-dusting his plumage to match his speckled chest-feathers.

Solgrim gained altitude, shrugging off the dull ache in his wing. He caught a thermal and rode it, making his way back toward the redstone house. Flight was like a battle in some ways - he could conquer the north wind itself and force it to cushion his primaries.

Skimming over the outer walls, he banked, preparing to land in the courtyard. Just as his talons were about to touch ground, Cromley prowled into his vision.

"What the-!" The wildcat hissed as a feathery cannonball collided with him. He threw the dazed Solgrim off of him. "Out of my way!"

Solgrim glared in return. "I've just seen the badger," he said.

"What? Where?"

"Outside in the woods."

"And?" The wildcat's tail lashed. "Did he say anything about his attack? Did you find out what he's planning on doing next?"

_Not really. _ The badger's words had been too vague to be a real plan.

"Nothing? Useless!"

The buzzard's scowl deepened. "I'd like to see you try to force information from a living weapon."

"Hmph. Regardless, it doesn't matter." Cromley smirked humorlessly. "I'm afraid to tell you that your services with the Red Fire Army are now over."

Solgrim's eyes widened. "...What?"

"Are you hard of hearing as well as sight?" Solgrim bristled. "What use have we of an injured mercenary? Not like you were of any use while you were around."

"You... you!" The buzzard clacked his beak. "I could have your eyes out before you could blink, cat!"

"Try it, bird." Cromley crouched, claws sliding free from their pads, ears flat against his skull.

The snow fell and two predators faced one other, their breaths intertwining in the air like fighting serpents. And then Cromley straightened up, lips pulled back over white teeth. "I've got more important things to do. Stay out of my way." He turned on his heel and prowled into the abbey.

Solgrim took flight. He climbed higher, forcing himself onward, grim resolution stamped on his face as he fought the winds. He would break every single bone in his own wing if he had to, and the pain would still be less vehement than the fire inside.

_Miserable, wretched cat! I'll kill him. I'll-_he faltered against a gust, flapping madly to spite himself- _tear his gutstrings out…_

The buzzard nearly choked on his resentment. It tasted like flyblown crow.

Movement below caught his eye, and he hovered, squinting. His eyes were still fragile and it was difficult to make out, but that was a tiny mouse - brown fur standing out against the snow underpaw - fighting her way across the abbeygrounds. She was dragging something along behind her.

A burst of impulsive cruelty sent Solgrim hurtling earthward like a lightning bolt, talons outstretched. He ripped the tiny thing from the mouse's grasp as he landed. Standing over his catch with great wings outstretched, he let out an angry screech.

The mouse was shocked into silence for a wingbeat, and then fled, wailing, into the comforting embrace of the redstone house. Solgrim followed along with slit eyes, simple satisfaction nestling in his belly.

_Now, then._ the buzzard lifted a talon to inspect his prize. It was covered in green skin - a bizarre shade for a creature's hide - and while it appeared to be guarded by some kind of shield on its back, it was pleasantly soft all over. Too soft. It stared at him with little coal-black button eyes and knew that he had been tricked.

Solgrim squalled his frustration at losing a potential snack and slashed at the hapless thing's face, stepping over it. He spread his wings and prepared to lift off when an irritating pang of guilt pulled back on his tailfeathers. He looked back - the little green thing lay sprawled in a pitiable heap, it's left leg torn.

It was actually a rather handsome shade of green. Solgrim imagined that it would make a pleasant compliment to the white sheets of his infirmary bed. Collecting useless things was the work of magpies, but this thing was his - he'd captured it by right. It wasn't a weapon, the most pure of beast-made creations, but at the very least it would give him something nice and soft to sink his talons into when he felt the need. After all, it wasn't as though he liked the stupid little object or anything.

Just then, he noticed that the thing was bleeding a sort of white, cloud-like substance from the cut in its leg. It bothered him. Can't have a broken thing, he thought. About as good as having a rusty blade. But how was he to mend it?

_I'll ask Doctor Spikehog._

He lifted off an inch and then stopped himself. The hedgehog would laugh at him if he saw him caring for such a tiny little morsel, and he detested being laughed at. He had to do this alone.

* * *

Solgrim peered into the kitchens through a window, and let the rest of his breath out - nobeast. They must all still be huddled in Great Hall. He suspected that this was the best place he could hope to find sticky stuff to close the cut with. But where? How?

A half-open jar of something almost seemed to wink at him from atop a counter, and he fluttered up to meet it. It was quick work to nuzzle the lid off, but he jostled it a little too vigorously and the jar clattered, a viscous dark purple liquid bleeding sluggishly from its insides. _Hmm... maybe this could work?_

"What are you doing?"

Solgrim spun. _"You!" _ He dived off the counter to stand over the stuffed turtle on the floor, glaring at the wren who glared back at him. He turned away, carrying the turtle with him to the countertop. "Get away, you miserable worm. If it wasn't for this peace treaty-"

"Well, that didn't seem to stop you from acting like an overgrown bully," Vivienne snapped. "We've got a monster loose and here you are stealing dibbun's toys an-" her voice trailed off. "What are you doing?"

"None of your business, maggot," Solgrim said with a talon full of blackcurrent jam. "Get away from me!"

"Are you... trying to seal that cut? Here, let me-"

"I said, get away!" The buzzard flared his wings and jerked backward from the wren's touch, losing his balance. He scrabbled for purchase, but lost the fight with gravity and toppled off. The entire room was spinning as he scowled at three Vivienne's in front of him. "Leave me alone," he murmured, and then crumpled.


	45. 42: Fallen from the nest

**Chapter 42. Fallen from the nest**

_by Vivienne_

"Must be one of the mottles getting into something," Viv had said. Now, just a few moments later, I was stuck wrestling a chubby ratling to the ground, pinning him down no matter what he outweighed me.

"'Ey, Kap! Get on over -"

That's right, Kap was still off with the Doctor. And Ma was in the kitchen. Which left -

"Burrley! Dip into that ol' haversack I brought down. Git 'em somethin' t' quiet their stomachs an' fill their gobs!" I called out.

Then, I wrestled a paw free and gave the brat below me a firm shake by his neck. It made his head flop about like Marigold's old dolly. "Calm down, ye idjit."

"Burr, who'm be-a wantin' som o' this hurr fruit'n'nutters?" Her naturally deep voice was pitched high; her affected "mother tones" grated on me, the pale imitation of Ma that they were.

It was the work of a moment - a few wriggles through the throng of beasts in Great Hall - and I made it to the kitchen's doorway. An angry screech called out from within.

_Ma! _I barrelled through the door, gritting my teeth at the impact.

Carnage. I stood, frozen to the cool stone as my eyes ran across a pair of feathered figures cloaked in dark liquid. The buzzard was laying prone with mother above him, shooting me a worried glance.

_Wait a second... that's not blood. _I allowed myself to exhale, then inhale. I took in the scents of the room: fear, old smoke, and a deep, velvety berry. Jam.

Viv's voice came in a "Jinck, I don't know what happened. He just -"

She was cut off by a gurgle from Solgrim. Mother and I took a step back from the great mottled mass as he began to stir himself to waking. My eyes drifted down to his talons, which were flexing on the remains of a mass of green fabric and frayed white fluff - some kind of doll.

"Kahh." The buzzard exhaled the harsh exclamation, his head rising to glare at the threesome before him: me, Viv, and the ruined doll. They settled on the doll, then went wide, his beak curling up into a familiar snarl. "What did you do!"

The screech pushed both of us back a pace. Ma's wing smacked my paw as we both tried to shield the other from the buzzard. She spoke up: "Now, Solgrim, it was an accident. When you fell…"

"Shut up!" Solgrim began working himself into a fit, rending the cloth at his feet. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!"

Viv let me win out and inched her way to the door. I kept my gaze on the bird, but flared my nostrils, sniffing for yesterday's lunch and its cutting board - there to my left.

The buzzard's voice was thick with rage. "I'm finished with this. If I'm no mercenary, I have no treaty. You destroyed my property, you maggot. You attacked me outside. Your very existence mocks me. If I've no treaty, then I'll exact my revenge."

"Go on, Ma. Go see t' th' mottles. Burrley's tryin' t' keep 'em in line by herself." My voice came out slower than I expected. My heart was having none of it, though, and was beating furiously.

"Jinck…" She sounded unsure.

"Go on. I'll meet ye in there. 'S a fight that he wants."

"An' that's why I'm not -"

"Dammit, Ma!" I half-turned and gave her a shove. "Out! Don't argue, fer once. If it's with me, he'll have a scrap an' go. If it's you, he'll kill you."

_Then he'll probably eat you, the savage._

"Weasel, you've not got a peck of sense if you think I'm going any-"

"Enough talk!" Solgrim cut our conversation short by lunging forward. We split, dodging in either direction. His talons gouged into the counter between us. I raced toward the fish-scent, snatching the carving knife as I ran by.

When I didn't feel the breeze of a set of wings at my tail, my heart hammered faster. I caught the edge of a table and spun.

Solgrim was pursuing Viv. She darted along the pot racks that dangled from the ceiling, always keeping a cast-iron shield between her and the buzzard. His beak snaked between the cookware, snapping at her tailfeathers. As she reached the end of the rack, he pecked one of the pans hard, sending it end over end into her.

His cry of victory drowned out her own squawk of distress. Both went silent; she lay still, knocked out from the blow. My vision blurred, except for Solgrim, who stood over her sharper and more colorful than ever. He smirked. "Come on then, whelp. Try to protect the maggot-loving wretch you call mother."

I growled low in my throat and moved around the table to the center of the kitchen. Solgrim stood his ground, and even placed a talon on mother's leg. "I could just squeeze, lad. Imagine her hopping about on one foot like a drunken heron."

"Stoppit!" My voice broke, now. "Leave 'er alone!"

He smiled. I remembered Viv saying that he savored this part most. He relished the moment before... "If you're going to stop me with that feeble knife, you'd best do it fast."

I charged. It was a stupid move and I knew it, but my vision had closed in on his talon on hers. I rushed forward, paws battling stones, and was met by a hard, feathered wall.

The world spun; red stone and brown feathers meshed into a sienna swirl as light blows knocked my head from side to side. My ears rang and my mouth ran dry. Still, I struck out with the knife, whipping it in front of me at the offending wings.

They paused mid-buffet, giving me enough of a reprieve to scrabble back, away from the buzzard. Mocking laughter followed me, as Solgrim settled back in to his position above ma. "Again, little mite?"

I got to my feet and shook my head, trying to clear out the fog that was trying to settle in there. I felt flushed, but my paw was cold on the knife's grip.

This time I didn't charge, but slid inside the range of his wings, keeping myself crouched low. When no attacks came from above, I hop-skipped forward and thrust at the great belly before me. A hiss punctuated my thrust.

The hiss turned to a gasp. I missed - Solgrim danced backward. A burning flare spread across my head, and I clapped a paw there.

I didn't need to see the white tuft to know what happened. A throb built up where my ear had been, matching my own pulse in intensity. The stink of the room melted away as I felt my focus sharpen.

_I'm never gonna get 'im. He sees it every time. And then he'll... _I heard a rushing in my ears. My limbs went numb, and a smoldering coal burnt in my belly. I stopped thinking. I moved.

My body leapt to the tabletop and shifted my weight to one side. Solgrim gave a squawk of surprise and stepped back. A clicking, guttural hiss worked its way out of me and I leapt again, twisting in midair and slashing out at the bird. The smell of blood exploded onto my senses, turning brown down into a bright orange - a vibrant target. I slithered low this time, almost along the ground. A talon struck near me; I felt a tightness in my side, but it was a trifle. I hopped toward the limb, not away. I lashed out again, was rewarded with more blood, more colors dancing before me - it shifted to a hazy pink, now. His worried shriek was a delight.

The pain in my side was nagging, like the kits inside trying to get my attention. I ignored it. I rose tall and rocked back and forth, willing the buzzard to move with me. He was most obliging, trying to peck wildly at me. My collar and bib burned now, too, but they still moved when I commanded.

He reared back, wings flapping at me, readying himself for a final blow.

I dove at him, at the hard muscles of his chest. The knife was too short to kill, and it stuck in his ribs. The heat and noise and blood finally made the world run red. My eyes narrowed and focused on his neck. I pushed off of the floor with my paws. I levered myself with the knife. He screamed in my ear and scratched at my back and tried to toss himself backwards.

But I found my mark. Through down and flesh, my teeth dug into his neck. Salt and sinew and pain all battered my mouth, but it knew better. It clenched. It tore. It clung to the struggling form beneath it.

Soon enough, the struggling stopped.

The struggling stopped.

Then, the world rushed back, hot and noisome, and the rushing in my ear quieted until I heard only two beasts breathing. The fountained pulse that had played on my tongue slowed to a trickle.

_Oh Fates. Fates fates fates fates._

My claws clicked against the flagstones as I scrabbled away from the mangled body. My eyes darted to Viv's form, which was still, but breathing.

They were all right. They were right. _I'm a vermin. I'm a killer. I'm - she won't want me, now._

I was sick, then.

I ran.

end of week four.


	46. 43: My best swan dive

beginning of week five.

**Chapter 43. My best swan dive (into shark-infested waters)**

_by Vivienne_

It was a constant throbbing that finally brought Vivienne back to consciousness. Back behind her eyes, she could feel a rattatat: a woodpecker's song.

The rest of the room, however, was silent.

She was on her back, half-covered by a pan, still. The meager light of the kitchens was like a harsh March morning, intensifying the pain. She closed her eyes and groaned, then began the arduous task of finding her claws.

Wait... silent?

Ignoring good sense, the wren flapped herself upright. Her vision pitched, and her stomach yawed. So it was with a stumble and a gulp that she finally laid eyes on Solgrim.

The sight did little to settle her stomach. Nicks and scratches covered his body, and he was surrounded by a halo of lost feathers. His neck was distorted, pulled into a sharp twist. Worst, though, were the bits of fur stuck in his claws and beak.

_Jinck. Oh Jinck, where are you. What did you do? He's not breathing, so you_ - She spun her head around - again fought to keep the world from falling behind in her vision - and began hopping madly about, checking under counters, peeking into crannies. - _where is that kit, where is that kit. Oh, there's so much blood and fur and stink and he had to kill him! He had to - and now I'm here and Solgrim's there and Jinck must have - and if anyone -_

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp bang from the root cellar door. A string of muttered curses - far too colorful for the drab dormouse Friar - heralded that beast's entrance. "What in the name of Martin's codpiece is going on up he-"

Viv froze next to the Great Hall doors, her eyes wide as robin eggs. "Friar... I..."

"Oh, Great Seasons. That's another one of them, isn't it?" The dormouse let himself fall back against a counter top. "Oh, Viv... what did you do? Why would you..."

"I didn't - we didn't - He attacked us, Friar! You know how they are - and he was! He's tried attacking us before. Oh, you have to believe me, Jinck might be a -" Viv stopped then and sniffed hard. "He would never do something like this."

"He did, Miss Viv. It's done," the Friar said. He looked up at the wren, then, and his expression softened. "Oh, ma'am. Come on, then. Just have a seat for a moment."

Viv did as she was bidden, allowing herself to rest on a bench. With her body relaxed, her tears began to fall freely. "What am I - what are we going to..."

"Now, now," the dormouse began, resting a paw on her shoulder, "if it was self-defense, you both will be fine, I hope. Cloverleaf and you never had any love lost, but he's a fair enough abbot." The friar moved to the counter and reached back behind a jar, bringing out a small bottle of red liquid. He filled a thin glass and placed it in front of the bird. Then, he took a drink from the bottle and set it back down on the counter. After a sharp gasp, he said, "Now, you know I'm going to have to go tell him. You just take a moment to get yourself together, ma'am. Get your story straight, maybe?"

He left. The old cordial was little comfort, its sickly sweetness falling flat in Viv's stomach. Still, it burned her throat nicely, giving her something else to focus on for a moment. Something other than the scene before her.

She moved over to Solgrim's body and placed a wing on his chest, feeling the roughness of the torn down.

She sat. She lowered her head. She grieved.

It wasn't the first time she had dealt with death, of course, nor even the closest she had been to it. The world was fearsome, and she had lost mottlefeathers to sicknesses or the elements, and more than once almost to Solgrim. Still, he was little more than a real mottlefeather himself, barely in his true coloring.

He had needed someone. He had needed a mother. Someone to keep this from happening. Viv stood, still keeping her wing on the fallen buzzard.

_At the least, he deserves a final song. Everyone deserves that._

So, like she was taught as a hatchling, she sang. She sang a soft, sweet melody of birds - nothing but music to a landwalker.

As the final notes floated up the chimney stoves, Viv closed her eyes. Then, there was Jinck. Where would he go - and without her?

Quiet voices at the door caught her attention, bringing her head back up to face the leadership of Redwall. A small entourage poured in: the new Skipper and Foremole's deputy, Cloverleaf, the Friar, and Russel. They all stopped short at the entrance of the kitchens, half of the party turning green about the whiskers.

Cloverleaf spoke up first, "Viv... what did you do?"

"Nothing, Abbot! I mean, not nothing, but it wasn't -"

"Any moment now, Vivienne," the Abbot said, "somebeast from the RFA will come in here, to keep an ear on the head of Redwall. Talk."

"There was an accident and Solgrim got angry and attacked Jinck and me. I got knocked out and when I woke up…"

The vole seemed to contemplate this for a long moment, his eyes darting between the two birds. "Fine. I don't care if you're telling the truth or not. The alternative - another RFA beast murdered by abbeybeasts - is worse than we could bear."

Viv rallied the forces of indignation and affront. "It is the truth, but hardly new news that you don't care."

"Look, Miss Vivienne, I don't have the time, nor the inclination, nor the patience to deal with this argument. Again. We're going to take care of this mess you landed in our laps. We're going to take care of the Mottlefeathers, even. Badgermum -"

"Abbot Cloverleaf?" Russ gave a small cough. "I think there was a problem with that... with something... spikes, what was it, now? On the tip of my tongue. Let's see, first I was thinking about pie, then... David was just talking about it..."

Where he trailed off, the Friar picked up. "We've our own and half the wood's young under our care already, Father Abbot. I think Doctor Song was referring to the nursery being full. Remember that some of the dibbuns tried to bunk in his rooms and succeeded for almost a week. We couldn't keep tabs on another two dozen."

The Abbot began, "Fine. Another family, then? Perhaps one of -"

"Excuse me." Viv's voice jumped in pitch. "My family is not a thing to be bartered and passed about. You'll not touch them."

A scuttling sounded from the door to Great Hall. "And there would be the RFA's ears. Vivienne, you killed a beast. I don't know if it was in self-defense or not, I don't care -" the Abbot said.

"To be fair, Abbot, it couldn't have been Miss Viv." Russel pointed to Solgrim's neck. "That is, unless she is hiding teeth in that beak."

"Wait, so it was that wretched whelp of yours, then? You're covering for him?" Exasperation shifted to naked anger. "He's been nothing but trouble since the first winter you brought him in; I should have banned him seasons ago. He brought this on us?"

"Now, Father Abbot-" Russ said.

"He was just defending his mother! He has more devotion in his tailtip than you lot have in your entire abbey; you'd probably leave your mothers to die if it meant doing the proper thing."

Cloverleaf gave an exasperated grunt and tossed his paws in the air. "Of course, back to playing the victim. 'Jinck didn't mean to, he was just playing around; he was just tasting the pie; he was just practicing his darts - nevermind it was in the dormitories; he was just curious about that footlocker.' Always something."

"This is different!"

"You're right. This is the last time. The rest of them can stay. You can even stay. He cannot."

"Throwing a kit out in the woods at a time like this, Father... isn't that... well, isn't that a bit much?" Russ asked.

"Seems about right for a killer," Cloverleaf replied.

"But, like Miss Viv said, they were protecting themselves. If we were in her position, I mean, fates forbid, I'd be the last creature wanting to be stuck like that, especially not with Sol - with a great whoppin' bird... wouldn't we do the same? Surely there's something else..." The hedgehog pressed his point.

Cloverleaf pondered this for a moment. "No. No, it's too big, Russel. You can apologize away a nicked comb or a spoiled dinner, but not somebeast's life."

Russ frowned. However, before he could form a reply, he was interrupted by a slam of the kitchen door.

"Ah, this must be a bad time. How unfortunate." Cromley's voice was like a hiss embedded in a pudding: menacing, but somehow ponced up. In any other instance - and from any other beast - it might have been comical, how aggrieved he sounded. The cat gave a pointed look to Solgrim's body. "Abbot Cloverleaf, I do think this is becoming tiresome. Do you murder our soldiers just to get a chance to see me in person? A simple appointment would suffice."

The vole looked as if he had eaten a pawful of rancid millet. "Mr. Cromley. I was just asking Miss Vivienne about it, actually. This bird is fairly well-known in the area for having a short temper. Apparently, he attacked Miss Vivienne and her son. Clearly, they were acting in self-defense."

"And I'm supposed to simply take your word for it?" Cromley asked.

Cloverleaf nodded. "The word of the Abbot should be enough, yes."

"It isn't. We expect you to turn over the two for punishment. Also, our soldiers are getting restless, so perhaps it's time you allowed us unrestricted access to the abbey building. After all, it would be a pity if we allowed wild rumors to spread through the ranks that the hosts here were secretly isolating beasts for assassination," Cromley said.

"No," Cloverleaf replied.

"No?"

"I do not know who thought it would be a good habit to tell the Abbot how to abbot," the vole began, shooting a glare at Viv, "but I am the Abbot of Redwall. I have punished the parties as I saw fit, although I believe Miss Vivienne when she says it was justified. Now, I believe we're done here: our Red Fire Army guests were asked to stay in the Great Hall."

Cromley's voice lowered. "You'll regret this, abbot. There's a room full of young ones behind me. Do you have enough eyes to watch them all?"

"You grub-fed son of a cuckoo!" Viv screamed at Cromley and launched herself forward. Only the new Skipper's paws about her middle and Russ's spiny body in front of her kept the cat from her grasping claws. "If you so much as breathe near them, I'll see a fate worse than this for you! I'll hang you from the rafters for the sparrows to roost in -"

"Clearly, she's quite harmless," Cromley said.

"- I'll turn your bones into dice for my Mottles to play with! I'll tear -"

"Miss Viv, please?" Russ asked.

Viv calmed herself at his imploring tone, but kept her eyes on the tom before them. "I'll be fine, Doctor."

Cloverleaf spoke up again, his voice level: "Mr. Cromley, go back to your leader - he's still staring at our stained glass, I imagine. We're finished on this issue, and if you so much as peep a threat again I'll have you turned out for the badger. Skipper and his crew will be through to take your large weapons to the gatehouse, as we agreed during our meeting last night, though you may keep your smaller, personal ones for defense. You will comply, or we will turn you out for the badger. We will now place guards at the entrances and exits to Great Hall - to protect you from incidents like this in the future, of course."

"Of course," Cromley spat his reply. "Excuse me, abbot. I have a report to give, now. Undoubtedly, Moonshot will want to know about one of his loyal soldiers being killed."

Cromley swept out, his tail lashing as if trying to dust the unpleasant conversation off of the cat.

"Now that that's taken care of," the Abbot said, turning back to the group, "we can get back to the matter before us. We can't take in her dibbuns?"

"Miss Vidya might be able to," Russel suggested, his voice sounding weary. "She has a big enough family, I suppose, but…"

"Excellent!"

"Wait a second!" Viv's voice returned to its indignant tone from before. "You can't just take the Mottlefeathers, they're mine!"

"And the resemblance is uncanny." The Abbot's remark shot across the room like a well-flown arrow, piercing her breast. "When all of this is over with, you and any who still want you can go. And be gone. In the interim, they'll stay in more capable paws."

"When I get back, I'm taking them back, Cloverleaf." Viv hopped to the counter and took off for the outside door, taking her frustrations out on the wind, buffeting it like she couldn't buffet the Abbot.

"Miss Vivienne!" A voice caught up to her.

She alighted on a branch outside. It was Russel, following her at a cheek-puffing run. "Miss Vivienne, wait a moment."

"I have a son to find, Doctor. What?"

"What about the weapon? You were going to assist me with it, right?" Russ asked.

Viv waved a wing at the abbey building. "Why don't you get one of them to help you? You didn't seem to be doing me any favors in there."

"Miss Viv, I agree with you, the abbot's not being fair about this. But he's trying to stop the whole of the Red Fire Army crashing down upon us and I'd wager my finest tea set - if I still had it after a very young David thought it would be funny to - anyway, the point is, he's under a lot of stress. I'll see if I can dissuade him, but right now we have bigger problems," he replied, "like Brimstone."

"I told you: that's your problem, now. You are still looking for a way to kill it, right?"

"Well... yes... I mean, it's been some amount of work getting through the notes, of course, but…"

"I'm going to find my son, Russel. If something happens to the rest of my brood while I'm away," the wren leaned down and narrowed her eyes, "Cloverleaf won't be the only one I have a painful conversation with. Especially if that thing hurts one of them. Find a way to kill it. Kill it. Simple."

Viv ignored any other stammerings and took off. She flew above the orchard's canopy, then slowed to a gentle coast. She pressed her eyes shut and began to slowly circle, flapping only enough to keep her height. The air was warmed from the red stones and the first cloying scents of spring seemed to rise with it. It was calming to be back aloft, in a place where she could get her way with just a flick of her wings.

Viv gave herself only a few moments before veering back down toward the orchard. She landed at the Nest and ducked inside. As she expected, it was a mess. It was always a mess.

While her mind wandered about the Abbey, trying to think like Jinck and ferret him out of what hiding spot he would likely be in, she fussed. The reed door had been left aside and a dusting of snow had blown in. Leaning down, she picked it up in her beak.

On the wall - uncovered now - was a lineup of small, black marks. The first set began much higher than the others; Viv and Jinck hadn't had to come to the Abbey at the beginning, and it had taken a few seasons to talk Cloverleaf into letting him in at all.

She leaned her head in and pressed it against the hard earth. _Jinck_. She let the rug fall from her beak. _What happened._ She closed her eyes and breathed deeply the scents of their home. _How could I let this happen…_

_Jinck. It's just a little nonsense phrase, after the little tail crook that he grew out of. Even back then he was sweet and clever and quick at the paw. He'd reached up and made that first mark higher than his head on purpose, trying to cheat nature. Just like I was…_

Viv sniffed and gave the wall a little headbutt. Listen to me! Like this is over. Well, we don't need nature any more'n anything or anybeast else.

She moved back outside and took deep gulps of air. All right. If he's not here, he might be up on the walls. Always did like high places.

Viv took off again, making for the walls over the main gate.

She was stopped short by the sight of a figure heading the same direction, along the ground. It was too big for Jinck. It was too big for any beast in the Abbey.

The new Skipper will be taking the weapons to the gatehouse, soon. She flapped to keep herself in place, holding her distance. It would take just a moment to head back. But they wouldn't believe me. And if he's on top of those walls…

Viv hesitated for only a moment.

She continued toward the walltop.


	47. 44: Peace, children, peace!

**Chapter 44. Peace, children, peace!**

_by Vidya_

Vidya sat on the bed closest to the fire. She was cradling one of the kittens in her lap, feeding him from the terracotta bottle she had borrowed from the abbey nursery. Her daughter, Shudra, was humming one of her dancing songs to the other one. He was sleeping after mewling all through lunchtime and early afternoon.

"Shudra, we should name them. I don't think their ma is comin' back."

"But what if she does?" The young vixen turned to look at her mother.

"Then she'll 'ave t'learn t'like their names. I can't keep callin' them 'boy' or 'kitten.'"

"I suppose ya're right, Ma. But what should we name them?"

"We'll call this one Deven. An' th' one that looks like 'is da can be Petuel."

Petuel woke up once again and began to cry. Vidya sighed and slumped her shoulders, defeated. It had been a long day already.

There was a knock at the door. Vidya put Deven down in the wooden cradle and went to answer it. Abbot Cloverleaf was standing at the front of a pack of rag-tag kits. He looked exhausted and older than when she had first met him.

"Miss Vidya, these -" He gestured at the young ones. "-are the Mottlefeathers. You may know that Vivienne had been looking after them. She is no longer able to, and we need you to take care of them."

The youngsters rushed past the abbot into the room and began running around. Some cooed at the kittens; others started to root through the fox family's belongings; still more began a game of hide and seek.

"Abbot…" Vidya spluttered, looking at the chaos around her. "I can't look after twenty-odd kits. I may be a ma, but if ya didn't notice, my youngest is about old enough for 'er own. I'm close t'bein' done with raisin' kits."

"I realize this, Vidya, but we really have no place else to put them. I thought that since your family is responsible, they could help you. We'll move you all to a much bigger room. Please, or I'll have to turn them out."

"We both know ya wouldn't turn them out, Abbot. I've just got enough t'deal with. Clare left 'er babies with me; that no-good 'usband of 'ers kit-napped the little girl. 'e doesn't know 'ow t'raise a kit! I've got t'find 'er before she's 'urt!"

"Well, no, I wouldn't turn them out. But if one of the abbeybeasts doesn't look after the kits, then the Red Fire Army will lay claim to them. And Moonshot certainly doesn't need a protege." Cloverleaf sighed. "I must go. There's nowhere else for them. I'll tell Skipper to look for the kitten; however, Benedict is the father, so there's not much we can do."

With that, he turned and left.

The small room was filled to bursting, and all the kits were beside themselves.

"Quiet!" Vidya's yell was barely heard above the din of running paws. Yet, all movement slowed to a stop as the message traveled through the ranks of Mottlefeathers, and little faces turned to look at the vixen.

"Now, what's yar name, miss?" Vidya looked at the petite mole directing the younger kits.

"Hurr, burr." The mole-maid giggled. "Oi be Burrley, marm."

"Well, Burrley, I'm goin' t'need yar 'elp. Let's get these kits in order, ready t'march t' our new room."

"Yes, marm," the paisley-clad mole said.

Vidya, Shudra, and Burrley got the kits lined up. Each one was carrying an item to the new room. Burrley had the heavy wooden cradle. Shudra carried Deven, who was awake and wriggling. Vidya was struggling with Petuel; he was squalling again.

The group marched down the hallway, singing to make the bothersome move a game. As they were about to enter the stairwell to the upper dormitories, the new Skipper, Buttonbush, approached Vidya.

"Oy, Miss Vidya!"

The vixen waved the rest of the group onward and turned back towards the burly otter. Petuel was struggling in her paws and almost slipped free. Vidya caught the kitten and rewarded Buttonbush with an exasperated sigh. "Make it fast, Skipper. I've got a lot of little ones t'look after."

"Aye, Miss Vidya. See, I was wonderin', well... Scallops always took care of everythin', and I'm not sure what t'do 'bout this badger. Would ye 'elp me?"

"'elp ya? Ya need my 'elp?" Vidya was shouting at the poor otter. "I'll 'elp ya as soon as ya get somebeast else t'look after these kits!"

The intimidated otter shrank away from her. "I was jus' needin' some advice, Miss Vidya. I guess I'll ask some other time."

"Ya're right ya'll ask me some other time. Now go." The harried fox stormed up the stairs to join her family and the Mottlefeathers.

She shushed Petuel, who was now crying loud enough to take the cover off a wagon. "It's alright, Petuel, shhh."

Tears sprang to her eyes as Vidya bounced the kitten. _I just can't... Th' kittens, th' Mottlefeathers... I need t'elp with th' defences..._


	48. 45: The Strongest Oaths Are Straw

**Chapter 45. The Strongest Oaths Are Straw**

_by Avery_

Avery lay in bed, his eyes shut as he listened to the sounds of his tent mates stirring. Amidst their groans, yawns, and mutters, he heard the tent flap being thrown open with an imperious rustle.

"Out," a deep voice growled.

Avery sat upright at once, rubbing at his eyes. Skanza booted the last weasel from his tent and turned to him. Avery gawked. Of course it was every lad's dream to have an attractive maid alone with him in his tent, but with Skanza it just wasn't as simple as all that. Still, he indulged the fantasy for but a moment. The Major's disapproving frown informed him that it played out not just in his mind but all over his face.

"Wipe that idiot grin off your face, Selwyn, or you'll be getting a face full of snow for breakfast."

"Sorry," said Avery. He wasn't. "So, er, what brings you to my tent this fine morning?"

"I heard from Cromley what happened last night. Is it true that you killed a fellow officer and set up one of the abbey beasts for it?"

Avery yawned. "'Fellow officer' is a bit of a strong term, don't you think? Besides, Moonshot told me to do it if he ever went—"

"I don't care," Skanza barked across him. "Bartolomeo was proving to be a capable officer and you killed him. You're under my jurisdiction and you _will_ be punished for it, mark my words."

_Still worth it,_ Avery wanted to sneer, but he caught the words at the tip of his tongue.

"Cromley said you may be up for promotion." Skanza sat down stiffly at the edge of his bed and fixed him with her interrogative glare. "Just what are you doing here, Selwyn? I want to believe that malarkey you spewed at me about weathering out the storm here and starting your own acting troupe. What are you doing making power grabs, and putting actual effort in?"

"Power grabs? What power gr—"

Her paws shot out and caught his lapels in an iron grip. "Did your father send you?" she demanded. "Is Blackgorse trying to seize control of the Red Fire Army? Is that it?"

Avery wriggled to free himself, but to no avail. Skanza's nose was now pressed against his, and a shock of schoolkit giddiness pervaded his fear. "No," he mumbled. "My father doesn't even know where you are. Lady Blackgorse doesn't either. I came on a...on a ship. My father sent me south to join an acting troupe. The crew doesn't even know I'm here. I...I gave them the slip when they landed here for supplies. Honest."

Skanza released him and straightened up, folding her paws across her chest. "Is that so? Why all the plays for Moonshot's favor, then?"

Avery shrugged. "He's got power and wealth, so why not? It's expensive starting up an acting troupe, you know. Plus, I kind of like all the assignments he gives me. Makes me feel like I'm doing something important."

Skanza sighed deeply. "Selwyn, I'm going to give you this advice one time: just walk away. You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"There you go again, telling me I can't do it," Avery spat in frustration. "I thought you'd be impressed I actually made something of myself here."

"Avery." Skanza looked down at the floor, her expression inscrutable. When she spoke again, she sounded strangely docile. "I'm...sure you can. You've always been clever. I'm just telling you: _don't_. You don't want to know the kinds of things I've been ordered to do, how many beasts I've killed. I do this because it's my duty and I don't know anything else. You, you're not the same."

"I disagree, Skanza. I've always said we have many things in common..."

The ferret's head snapped in his direction once more, the familiar edge jutting back into her voice. "We have _nothing _in common. You were raised to have a better life than a horde can offer, and I..." Something dark, something terrible lurked behind her eyes. She stood up quickly and stalked to the exit. She threw the tent flaps wide, and the weak sunlight trickled in. "Just...stick with your original plan, Captain Selwyn. Weather the storm. Promise me you won't go doing any more assignments unless I've assigned them."

Avery was so surprised at what had transpired that the words sprang automatically from his lips before he could give them any real thought. "I promise."

"Good. Now get dressed, for Vulpuz's sake. It's late, and I won't hesitate heaping on more punishments if you keep slacking," she barked, then left.

* * *

Avery's mind was on Skanza's words as he left the tent a while later. She had never talked to him that way before. He wasn't sure if he preferred it or not. He wasn't sure of a lot of things, lately.

Except for the fact that he was hungry, and that the bumpkins in the abbey had better have some decent victuals for once. Avery knew it was too much to hope for a nice woodpigeon, its dark, fragrant juices dripping from every bite. At least they brewed a decent ale, even if they were deplorably stingy with it. The least they could do would be to let him keep drinking until he forgot where he was and who his fellow lodgers were.

Some small movement at one of the abbey windows caught his eye. The ferret's heart beat a fierce tattoo against his ribs. Bartolomeo was glaring out at him. Avery froze, his mind racing. _Oh hellfire, he's alive! He'll tell that floozy hare of his and they'll kill me or throw me out with the badger. What can I do? What in 'Gates can I do?_

But then the hare turned away, and Avery realized it wasn't Bartolomeo. It was a slightly older buck, dressed in one of those ridiculous green robes that seemed to be in fashion here. The ferret's heart throbbed painfully as it slowed, as if indignant at being overworked for nothing. _Get ahold of yourself, you silly sod. Bartolomeo is most definitely dead._

"Oomph! I say, watch where you're going there...Jinck, isn't it?"

The young weasel scrambled to right himself, looking around furtively. "Yes. Sorry."

Avery immediately noticed something was all wrong about Jinck. His tone was subdued, distracted; the youthful light in his eyes had dimmed somewhat. Most obvious and disturbing, however, were the dark crimson stains around his mouth, all over his wiry figure and the bloody stump where his ear had been.

"Jinck, why are you covered in blood?"

"Nothin'! I didn't do nothin'! I mean, eh, I killed a thrush! I mean, I didn't do nothin'! Nothin'!"

Avery snorted. "You're an awful liar, you know. I'll have to teach you sometime."

The weasel balled blood-streaked paws into fists. "Sod ya' an' yer lessons, I don' care anymore...I mean, I never cared...I mean...I dunno what I mean...Shuddap an' leave me 'lone." His lip quivered as he struggled gallantly to hold back the moisture beginning to gather in his eyes.

Avery paused, pondering the best way to win Jinck's trust. By the looks of things, he had something big that Moonshot could possibly use. Skanza's disapproving scowl flashed across his mind's eye, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to find out what the kit knew. He wouldn't even have to tell Moonshot. Then she'd be happy with him.

The ferret dropped to one knee and placed a paw on Jinck's shoulder. "It's all right, I don't have to teach you anything. I think I know what's going on here. Just know that I know exactly how you feel."

"No, ya' don't!" Jinck spat, quickly wiping at his eyes.

Avery shrugged. "Okay, maybe not. How _do_ you feel?"

"None o' yer beeswax."

This was getting nowhere fast. The ferret sighed. "Okay, so don't tell me. How about you go tell Miss Viv instead?"

At the mention of the wren's name Jinck's eyes went wide as saucers, and then he scowled again, muttering something incomprehensible.

Avery smirked. "You can't tell her something this big, can you? She'd judge you. It's not her fault, it's just in her nature. I won't judge you, Jinck. I promise."

"Miz Viv was there," Jinck said slowly. "She saw me...saw me do it. Tol' me not to but I had t' do it. He had t' die, nasty beast almost broke 'er leg an'...an'..." He gnashed his teeth in anger.

"Who? Who had to die?"

"That bird. That big, ugly, dumb bird that came in with all o' ya'."

_Solgrim,_ Avery realized with a pang of sadness. He'd been so hell-bent on destroying his nemesis, the badger. He'd never get the chance, now.

A thought occurred to the ferret, out of nowhere. Just as Moonshot had used Bart's death as leverage, perhaps he could take a leaf out of the weasel chieftain's book here.

Avery set his face into a somber expression. "Oh dear. I don't think Moonshot is going to like hearing that another one of his soldiers has been murdered. He was angry enough about Captain Bartolomeo's death at the paws of the abbey beasts. Another will not be tolerated."

Jinck looked utterly betrayed. "But...but...ya' ain't gonna _tell 'im_ I did it, are ya'? Not really? Ya' can't!"

Avery shook his head sadly. "I'm so sorry, Jinck. I have to report things like this, or I could be killed." He paused, giving ample time for his words to sink in before adding, "Unless...No, I couldn't..."

"What? What is it?" Jinck demanded, wiping a stray tear from his eye.

"_Stop," _Skanza's voice growled in his head, but it was too late now; the weasel was already hanging on his every word.

"I suppose if you told me something else that I could tell Moonshot, I wouldn't have to tell him that. Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything about the abbey beasts? Moonshot would be very interested, interested enough to possibly forget all about Solgrim."

"Well..." Jinck gnawed at his lip. "I s'pose...Maybe it's nothin' useful, but Kapler stole a book outta Moonshot's tent."

"Kapler? Who's that?"

"Vole. Looks all shifty an' weird."

Avery frowned. "I think I know who you're talking about. This Kapler scum was poking around Moonshot's tent yesterday."

"Yeah, that's 'im."

"I had a feeling he was sticking his nose where it didn't belong. Right, I'd better go give my report now, Jinck. If I were you, I'd get myself cleaned up and have a nice lie-down. See you later."

Jinck merely nodded and scurried off. Avery took a few steps toward Moonshot's tent, then halted. Skanza's voice played in his head.

"_Promise me you won't go doing any more assignments unless I've assigned them."_

He weighed his options. On the one paw, it would be incredibly satisfying to see that vole getting his just desserts. On the other, he'd made a promise to a beautiful creature that was a bit unstable at the best of times. But on the one paw, Skanza had been worried about his safety, and he didn't think reporting this to Moonshot would jeopardize that. Also, by not reporting it to Moonshot he would be going against the weasel's orders, and the ferret was rather attached to his head and desired to continue a close relationship between it and the rest of his body. On the other paw, well, promise to unstable creature...

Avery thought about it for a moment, then trudged through the snow. He would be in deep weasel droppings no matter what he chose.


	49. 46: Always Running

**Chapter 46. Always Running**

_by Kapler_

_Trapped underneath my own routines_

_I tried to lift it off of me_

_I give up, I give up_

_I just sit and bleed_

Tired. Everybeast was tired. Kapler could see it in their gait as they scurried down hallways, in their faces as they muttered in corners or systematically sharpened weapons. The infirmary keeper looked ready to shout when Kapler passed along Doctor Song's request. Squirrels glared at rats glared at mice, all with equal rancor. It was harder and harder to distinguish between Redwallers and Red Fire soldiers. Their crude laughter and rigid grasp of discipline were all that separated the rugged fighters desperate to ward off impending panic. Redwall's inhabitants were fraying at the edges.

Kapler fared little better. His fur was mussed and whiskers shabby. Uneven tread marked his passage, but failed to set him apart. Beyond an occasional raised brow, none questioned his wanderings.

He needed to find Quincy. Kapler hadn't seen the recorder since his first day at Redwall. From what he could gather, not many others had seen him, either. After the smashing of the side gate, Quincy had taken up residence in one of Redwall's inner rooms - unobtrusive and out of the way. He knocked at the door and stepped inside with furtive steps. "Quincy, sir? Are you in here?"

Rustlings from an open doorway precluded Quincy's appearance. He looked as threadbare as the day Kapler met him, as if he had been run ragged earlier in life and never fully recovered. "Oh! Kapler, isn't it?" He shuffled into the room. "To what do I owe the pleasure, chap?"

Kapler bit his lip. He didn't want to draw this out any longer than he had to. "Have you ever-do you have any writings on a professor Falliss?"

All pleasantry drained from Quincy's face. His ears went rigid and he adopted a stern militaristic air that Kapler never would have guessed he possessed. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Doctor Song asked me-"

"He wants information, does he?"

"Well, uh, yes. We thought we-"

"No."

Quincy's flat refusal unbalanced Kapler. "That thing's inside the abbey! We can't-we need all the help we can get!"

Quincy seemed to deflate, as if his moment of passion had exhausted him. He looked away, fiddling with his necklace - a hare in midleap. "I-I can't. It's just too soon."

"Don't you care?"

"I'm sorry, Mister Kapler." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Tell Doctor Song he'll have to find another way. That's a chapter of my life I'm not willing to revisit."

They were spoken kindly, those words, but Kapler could feel the permanence behind them, the finality. Like his father on a good day. His ears drooped. "I-understand." And he did, really. Not bothering with a farewell, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Failed again. Kapler trudged, aimless, down the halls. One simple job, but he couldn't do it. Without thinking where he was heading, he found himself staring out a window at the smashed wicker gate now boarded shut, ineffective but reassuring. He stared at it. A shiver ran through him just thinking about the creature powerful enough to smash through. Running a paw along the smooth window pane, Kapler closed his eyes. He could leave. Leave right now, and move on. Start again. No one here would miss him - most wouldn't even notice.

Russel would.

The hedgehog had been nothing if not kind to Kapler, even protecting him from Benedict's ire. And what about Miss Vivienne? They knew his problems, knew and understood. At the very least, he needed to say goodbye first. And collect his bag; he'd left it in Doctor Song's study for safe keeping and-well, he just couldn't bear its weight right now.

No, he couldn't leave just yet. He was turning away from the gate's promise of freedom when strong arms wrapped around him from behind and a sack slipped down over his head.

"Hello, _woodlander_." The word was layered with contempt. "Moonshot would like a word with you."

Before Kapler could yell, he felt the point of a blade against his back. He stiffened.

His captor sniggered. "That's right. Try to run, I run you through." Rough paws hustled him down the hall and through a door. A chill breeze snapped at his coat, flattened his ears and let him know he was being led outside.

After several minutes of stumbling through the snow, he was pushed to his knees, blindfold torn away. Kapler blinked. Avery stood before him, pleased as a dibbun with a candied chestnut. They were in the abbey orchards, its bare trees weighed down with snow and icicles. Something caught the sun, and Kapler stared at a bracelet hanging on the ferret's wrist.

Avery noticed Kapler's attention on his bracelet, snarled, and slipped it back into his sleeve. "Don't even think about it, vole." With eyes on his charge, he called over his shoulder. "I caught him, Lord Moonshot!" The ferret's voice was dramatic, as if he had accomplished some feat worthy of the greatest reward.

Formidable and daunting, Moonshot swept his cloak behind him and glared at Kapler. Gone was the urbane leader thanking him for tea; what remained was savage, commanding. "Search him."

Thorough paws riffled through every pocket in his coat, spilling their contents - his treasures - into a pile. He was glad he'd left his satchel in Russel's study.

Moonshot eyed the trinkets. He slipped a silver bangle into his pocket and kicked aside the rest. "Is that everything?"

Avery nodded. "All I could find."

Moonshot picked at his claws. "You see, my dear Kapler, it's not easy being a horde leader. Minions are always looking at you to tell them where you're going next, where they're going to be making their fortune. But sometimes, they get it in their heads to take initiative, act above their station, take something that doesn't belong to them."

Kapler swallowed and glanced at Avery. The ferret just grinned.

"I know when something goes missing."

This wouldn't end well. Kapler ran. A knee in his side. Something gave way to pain, sharp and quick. He shouted and crumpled forward, embracing the snow.

"Shut him up before the whole abbey hears him."

"Of course, my lord." A weight on his back was followed by lethal claws curling over his muzzle. A growl warmed his ear. "You're going to die, vole."

Moonshot crouched, toothy maw looming large in Kapler's vision. "Where's the journal, dear one?"

Kapler shook his head and whimpered.

"Captain Avery, this dishonest lad shouldn't steal things, should he?"

"Indeed, my lord."

He could feel a finger on his right paw arch backwards, a slow burn spreading, straining to ignite. His breath couldn't slip past his convulsing throat. He wriggled underneath Avery, legs beating the snow.

_Snap._

He jerked, nearly throwing Avery off him. Fire exploded in his paw, radiating from a single digit. He couldn't even scream, teeth mashed tight together. Tears welled as a second finger was pulled back.

"Where's my journal?" The claws around his mouth loosened.

Kapler slumped. "Don't-don't have it." He screamed; the second break hurt more than the first.

"Don't play with me, vole!" Moonshot snatched Kapler's crippled paw and crushed it between his own.

All else in the world disappeared behind the pain. Kapler writhed on the frozen ground, jaws stretched in silent agony. His paw throbbed a syncopated tattoo. For what must have been the tenth time, he nearly passed out.

When he finally regained his senses, he almost lost them again. Looming overhead, a monolith that overshadowed the pain in Kapler's paw.

"Where's the professor?" The words were as metal as the beast, frosted with ice.

Avery scrambled off his prisoner and away from the giant. Kapler didn't move, held in fascinated thrall. Only Moonshot retained a measure of sense. "Why, I'm the professor, of course."

Kapler could almost hear the internal clicking and whirring, like Doctor Song's mechanic clock, as Brimstone puzzled through this statement.

"_You_-are the professor?"

"Of course, my dear Brimstone. You are my creation." Moonshot spread his arms wide, smiling as to a son. "My greatest creation."

This was madness. A need to survive surged through Kapler and he hurtled away, towards the abbey.

"Secure him, Captain Avery."

Pounding paws behind Kapler, breath on his nape. Terror lending speed to his flight. He rounded the corner of the abbey building when a treacherous rock in the snow tumbled him forward to land hard, world a whirligig.

Avery flipped Kapler onto his back and grabbed the vole's throat with both paws. His maw split in a disheveled grin. "And so. You die. Kill you now. Let me live tonight."

Kapler flailed. He tugged at the paws on his neck, and, with ferocity born of desperation, kicked his assailant in the stomach, sending the ferret tumbling away gasping for air.

Again, Kapler ran. Wads of emotions tangling themselves tighter and tighter, a twisted knot suffocating and deep. Needing just that bit more to either snap or strangle. Strangled. Kapler clutched his mangled fingers close and kept running. No way out. No way in. There was no way in. The doors were barricaded, stoic in their refusal. "Let me in!" Sobbing breaths tore through him. He slammed his good fist against the cold wood. "Lemme in lemme in!"

The door creaked open. "Hey, are you okay? What were you doing outside?"

Kapler didn't answer. He needed a beast he could trust, only one he knew where to find. Charging through the mob of bewildered expressions, he leapt up the stairs, one at a time, two at a time, faster, faster, feet skidding across stones. He was sure the echoing footsteps were Avery chasing him down. He didn't bother knocking at the door - it swung wide, eager to meet the wall.

"Doctor Song!" His stifled cry was lost on the empty study. Despair stabbed, a knife slicing his gnarled thoughts into incoherency. His body welcomed the floor's cool riposte to its burning throbs as his legs buckled.


	50. 47: Some Riot

**Chapter 47. Some Riot**

_by Russel_

_I think when he's drinking he's drowning some riot_

_What is my friend trying to hide?_

"Burr, Phinny?"

"Youm bees callin' Oi?"

"Youm gots any idears 'bouts yon peggle piece?"

"Yurr, the doi'gram's gurt confusin'!"

"Urr, let's get t' talkin' t' thur Doc'tur."

Something velvet-soft and small insisted on tapping him in the small of his back. Russel turned about, instantly apologetic that he'd nearly skewered the small paw's owner.

"Sorry about that, Grummel! What can I do y'for?"

The mole tugged his snout. "Hur-hur, it bees not a problem, zurr! Us'ns wur jus' wunnerin', th' peggle-pice right yur in th' dio'gram? Bees it goin' ur or yur?"

All through the doctor's head traveled a sensation akin to a gear coming loose from its spoke.

"Uh, yes. Exactly."

The mole's snout wrinkled. "Zur, you'm bees not unnerstanin' Oi?"

The loose gear rattled. "Well, I, erm, that is?"

"The one on the left, Grummel."

David clapped a paw over Russel's shoulder, a welcome blanked amidst the cold.

"Dad, can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Yes-yes, sure."

His son spoke at a low tone when they were out of earshot of the moles. "You feeling alright?"

The doctor smiled, wrinkling his cheeks to his eyes. "Positively beaming, David, positively beaming."

His son's face made not the slightest movement. The older hog's cheeks sagged.

"It's that obvious, is it?"

"Any other day, you'd be using that awful mole-voice with them. That and you've been staring at that map of the abbey for over an hour."

The doctor beamed. "You've been studying up on the clock?"

"That's not the point, Dad. Why are you over here all alone?"

Russel buried his snout into his paws. "We're short one journal and one irritant feline. I can't find Benedict anywhere and I've looked five times at least since yesterday. I thought if I narrowed it down-that and I need Foremole. I just do. I can't understand a word they're saying."

"Foremole's gone, Dad. He got locked up by those Redfires and they haven't given him back. You could ask the deputy the Abbot put in his place."

"He's off tending to some abbey business and his accent is about as thick as any of the others. It's not just that, though, it's-Vivienne said she was going to help me calibrate the device and get the projectiles settled, but now she's flown off. Although-I suppose I could use S-"

He stopped. In there was another problem. He didn't have Solgrim, either. Russel's paw met the table with splintering force, causing pain, red, hot and bubbling, to lance through his whole arm. A coolness slid down to it, wrapped around it, cradled it. David lifted his father's paw up, pressed it into Russel's chest as though setting an egg into a cotton-lined box.

"You need to learn not to do that," said his son, a smile distilling any concern or anger that may or may not have been lurking in his voice. Russel was having difficulty detecting such things; his ears were not properly calibrated.

"It's-it's not just Foremole or Vivs or anything, though."

His low whisper collided with a solid crash from nearby, pouring into his ears and filling him with sickly dread.

"Burr, yom' puttin' thur gurt big peggle on th' wrong soide!"

"Eve'one bees allroight?"

A tidal wave yell soon washed away all other droplets of molespeech. Russel dashed over to the wreaked machine, something viscous and lukewarm coating his throat.

"What on earth did you all do?"

His fists balled, his neck began to recede, exposing the sharp spines on his crown, the back of his neck, his shoulders. Russel's jaws lodged against each other in such a vice-like hold that he could practically hear them begin to fracture. His anger coiled, growing tighter and tighter, yet there was no resulting explosion. It siphoned off, spilling gradually out onto the floor as he felt the familiar warmth of his son's paw on his hand. He gave it a slight squeeze, then wandered, as if lost, over to the side of the ballista. The hog pressed his head against the now cracked timbers. His paw began to stroke them as though comforting an infant.

"We bees gurt sorry, zur! We'm nevur meant -"

"Fine," said Russel, a catch in his throat. "Fine. It's not your fault. Not at all. I should have been watching, should have paid more attention." The beginnings of a laugh vibrated up his throat. "Just like me to think things would sort themselves out, eh, David? Just like me. Say a few words, give some restrictions and think things will work out?"

For what he could only estimate was five minutes, not was heard in the cavernous hall save the low brushing of flesh on wood, the slight rumble of beasts talking far away. A loud clap interrupted the interlude. The hog stood stark upright, rubbing his paws, brow knit tightly together.

"Tea, that's all we need, good cup of tea, some time to think, I'll have this all sorted out."

There was a tug at his rolled sleeve. Russel turned to see a face that might have been prepared to tell him his grandfather hadn't lasted the night.

"The abbot's not letting anyone take tea on account of us running out of food."

A sound akin to the water draining out of a vast, empty barrel bellowed through Russel's throat.

"I'll. Just. Be. In my study."

* * *

The door was already open. The hog tread as though the floor were glass. His back pressed against the wall just to the side of the doorframe as he looked through it sideways, eyes racing to catch the intruder before it could to likewise. The doctor abandoned his cover the moment he sighted the battered vole within.

"Kapler! Oh, sorry!"

He'd caused the vole to jump by shouting. Kapler wheeled about on his knees, paw held to his mouth to silence Russel. His pupils were fleas racing through pools of milk.

"Who did this?"

"Moonshot. And Avery. They...I was..."

Russel put a paw on Kapler's shoulder, instantly pulling back when the action caused the vole pain.

"You stay here; I'll go get Mister Vale."

His trousers caught against a mangled paw.

"No! No you can't leave me alone! Can't tell anybeast!"

"Why? Kapler, why can't I tell anybeast?"

"They'll ask questions."

"Kapler-I respect your opinion just as much as, no, scratch that, probably a lot more than other creatures in this abbey, but didn't you think that perhaps a few questions are worth having the protection of the abbey behind you?"

"If they protect me. I stole the journal, remember?"

The hog opened his mouth, closing it soon after as he remembered the kitchen, the Abbot and Vivienne.

Russel made to sweep everything off of his desk but was blocked by some invisible force before he could do so. After some careful stacking and replacing, he had a clear surface on which Kapler could lie.

"Just hold still, Kap, I'll have you fixed up in a few minutes."

The vole's brow wrinkled. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Not as often as I'd like to, no."

* * *

Two broken tweezers, several bandages and around four splints later, Russel washed his paws in a wooden basin at one side of the room. His claws welcomed the cold numbness after having such uncomfortable sensations. There was a reason Russel had not become a healer. Not just one reason, either, but right now, first and foremost, he was pretty sure it had to do with the feeling of blood, bruised tissue and open wounds beneath your paws. Everything felt so very raw, sticky, unforgiving. At least if you erred with a machine, there were ways to repair it. A body could be much trickier.

"How are you feeling, Kap?"

"Tired."

"Lie down, then, I'll not force you from that desk. At least until David comes back to do his scrip practice. Closest thing to a religion he has, the little rip."

"No, I mean-"

Russel could hear paws grasping from something in that tone.

"I'm-I'm just exhausted. From everything."

The hog crossed back to his chair, sat down, leaned forward. Kapler was the only thing in the room now.

"Well, I've got two ready ears."

"It would bore you. It's dumb."

"Kap, in case you haven't notice, I like to spend the majority of my free time observing things that cannot speak, touch, feel or breathe. Half of the things I enjoy talking about get other beasts snoring before I've even finished my thesis. Boring me would take effort."

The vole found something fascinating on the ceiling.

"I'm tired of everybeast treating me...I'm not a thief. I mean, I know what I am, but every time I turn around, I'm being accused or stared at or-or regarded with concern, like I'm some child who just can't help himself! And if I'm not being scolded or told off...they're wanting me to be a thief. I don't know. I'm just...just sick of it."

Neither of them said anything for awhile, although the clock seemed to have something interesting to share since it never stopped ticking the whole while.

"I just-I feel like I don't belong here."

"Well, that's perfectly normal, Kap. That's, that's more than normal, 'specially for somebeast your age. I had a bolt for every time I felt I didn't belong-well, suppose I actually do."

"It's different, though! You lived here all your life. Me, I just got here. And after...things happened with...I don't really want to get into it."

"I might have been born here but that's like saying I was only stranded half-way out in the ocean. Ocean-probably not the best analogy, never actually seen it - anyway, the point is, I wasn't exactly popular amongst all the other kiddoes." The hog sniffed. "I'd have something I wanted to do and my Dad was busy or Mum had to tend to things and the other kids, it was far beyond them to even know what I was talking about. Wasn't until I met-"

Again that ball of ice, that barely tangible stone marble lodged in his throat. Blinking very hard, Russel finished with a different thought.

"The point is, Kapler, there's a place for you. There's me. Scary as Moonshot and Cromley and whoever else is out there is, well, just ask David. I can be a right terror if I want to."

Kapler's lids exploded wide with such violence it looked as though they were trying to dislodge his eyes from his sockets.

"The Professor!"

"You spoke to Brother Quincy about that? What did he have to say?"

"No, Russel, the Profes- the badger, Moonshot told him he was the professor."

The hog had to give the room a quick mental measurement to be sure it hadn't just expanded.

"How long ago was this?"

"I-I don?t know."

The hog found himself putting his coat on. He wasn't going outside but it he was going somewhere. Putting his coat on was a going-somewhere action. There was no way Moonshot would pass for the professor, no possible way he could convince Brimstone. Unless he had read the journal. His spikes bristled at that thought. He had the journal longer than Russel. What if he'd read through all of it? What if he'd memorized it?

_Wait._

"Kapler, do you hear anything?"

"No."

Neither did Russel, save for the clock's ticking and the barely audible noise of his heart battering against his ribs.

"There'd be gates breaking open and beasts screaming if he'd gotten the badger on his side. In the least, somebeast would have heard old Moon-moony crying for mummy if he'd gotten on the wrong side of our large metal friend and then raised a racket."

He helped Kapler up from the table.

"Come on. We've got time but I'm not at all sure how much."

* * *

The work of a few minutes yielded a very motivated David and mole crew, who wasted no time in quietly spreading the word to the appropriate abbey order members of what had transpired just outside of the main building. Redwall's forces were gathering in silence. Russel only hoped the tension stinging the air didn't cause them to loose any semblance of surprise against the new threat.

Several floors down and five rooms away, the abbot met with officials to discuss the next move. In the dormitories, however, a doctor prepared to break a lock.

"Why are we doing this? Shouldn't you be working on your ba-whatsits?"

"Ballista. David's taking care of that. He can read my diagrams and he's more than familiar with my script. He'll have no trouble helping the moles repair that weapon. We, however, need to find Benedict, first and foremost." The hog held up the object for which he'd just spend a good amount of time fishing inside his apron. "Always bring a screwdriver with you, Kapler. If you only remember one thing I teach you, remember that."

"You're sure Benedict is in Foremole's room?"

"No. Never sure of anything, Kap, I thought you knew that about me already. But, it was on my list of places to visit and there were two extraneous factors leading me here first. One, I want to have a poke around to see if I can figure out if whoever did kill Bart left anything in this room. That'll help us get Foremole back and that means it'll be easier for me to get the ballista put together. Back together, actually. Two, I'm going to teach you how to pick a lock. It's fun!"

"Yeah, because knowing how to break into a room is just what I need."

Russel could almost smell the contempt in Kapler's voice. He turned and with his most sincere face answered, "It's fun, Kap, that's the only reason I'm teaching you. I taught David this years back." He pulled a few other items from his apron: some thin metal sticks, a few needles, a sturdy tool resembling an ice pick. "Every lock has tumblers inside of it and when the tumblers align -"

"The tumbler's align, the lock opens," said the vole in perfect unison. "I know how a lock works. I didn't grow up in a house without doors."

"Ah yes, but you clearly grew up not appreciating them! Think about it, Kap, think about the wonderful complexity of these things. Think about that last bit even more, because I made this and I'm brilliant especially when it comes to locks. Well, it's not specially limited to just locks, but that's a novel for another day. Now, the first step is to insert this bit here, see? Just put your paw on mine there, that's it, watch those fingers. Now, we have to turn that slowly - slowly, Kap, slowly! No hurry."

"Can we just find the key?"

"The beast baring the key is in a meeting with the abbot and I don't want to disturb them." Russel was practically standing back inside of that kitchen, then, when he thought about the Abbot. There was a side of Cloverleaf he didn't want to see turned over any time soon. "Now, ease up on that and listen, listen! Hear that? It's humming, Kap, giving us a little tune to clue us in on how to trick it. If there's one thing more fascinating than a lock, it's how you can trick a lock. Now, just a few steps more and, there!"

Metal bits churned out a fanfare as the lock finally sprung open. Cold and damp poured from the room, right into Russel's nose and ears. The darkened chamber held a secret. In here was a different lock to crack, requiring more sophisticated tools.

"Kapler, you've got a wonderful set of eyes."

The vole coughed. "I, uh...aren't you married?"

"Wait, what? Oh, no. No no no, you misunderstand me. I mean, you notice things. You see things and I mean really see them. It's part of what makes you a good th-what makes you a fascinating beast." He paused a moment to re-shuffle his thoughts around his near-blunder. "You and me, we're going to look through this room, see if there's even the slightest shard to be found. You'll probably notice it before I do, but give me a shout when you do."

The bed concealed nothing, save a mattress that was overdue for a replacement. Nothing hid inside of the dresser or cabinet aside from stagnant air and a few articles of clothing. It occurred to Russel that Skipper's crew may have already looked through this room. They found nothing, though, which meant they overlooked something. None of them were he or Kapler.

"There's something wrong with me, Kap," said Russel as he rummaged through a pillowcase.

The vole, who had been pawing through some of Foremole's robes, turned. "What?"

"Said that out of the blue, I know. But it's just true. Something is wrong with me, Kap. I can feel it. I know-it's like, I know I can be better than this, I can think faster but something's-it's like something's stopping me. Something I can't get at or understand. I can't name it, but I can feel it. I've felt it strongly ever since I found this note to myself from-well, myself."

"Mind-saying that again?"

"It's a long story, Kap, but-the condensed version is, I've forgotten something and clearly I want to remember it, so much so that I left myself a note to remember to remember. Even before that note, though, there, in the back of my head, there's just-something's wrong."

The vole looked as though several options of what to do next flickered though his mind, though he acted on none.

"Why not tell David about this?"

" I was going to tell him but I didn't want him to worry. Lately I haven't really been myself. Well, suppose you're always yourself, can't be anybeast but you. Anyway, the point is, David has a lot going on. I don't want to add to his load."

"But it's alright to add to mine?" Kapler remained stone-faced. After a few moments- tense silence, the vole smiled. Russel laughed.

"Good one Kap! Nearly had my heart saying 'hello' to my throat."

"I guess we have to say 'goodbye' to finding anything useful in this room, though. Although-"

Russel watched, eager as a child watching their father perform a magic trick. Kapler seemed to be reasoning something out. A sensation akin to pride inflated within his chest. His mind drifted to David learning to read or construct simple machines.

"Whoever really killed Bart must have washed their paws in this basin because there was blood in it. They might have left something."

The vole turned around, holding something barely visible between thumb and foreclaw.

"A hair," said Kapler, crossing over to Russel. "Moles don't have long hair, do they?"

"No. And Foremole might have been up there in age, but he was hardly turning white."

That narrowed things down considerably. There were only a few species within the abbey with long, white fur and then only a few that were actually members of the abbey. Which meant that, more than likely-

"Doctor Song, did you just hear…?"

"Hm? Sorry my mind was elsewhere."

"I thought I heard something above us."

Russel looked at Kapler. Kapler looked at Russel. The two smiled, Kapler's unsure.

Still got a cat and a lost book to find, don't we, Kap? Let's get on, then!"


	51. 48: So Humbert Humbert

**Chapter 48. So Humbert Humbert walks into a bar, and he says \"ladies and gentlemen...\"**

_by Benedict_

"Suppose you were underwater and naked and running out of air, deep down where all the light's gone, and you have to come up for air. And you spend every last precious ounce of your life's energy in the effort to rise to the surface and take that badly needed breath, and just as your head breaks from the water you remember, too late, to your horror, that you are a fish."

- Dexter Palmer, _The Dream of Perpetual Motion_

Once, when he was young, Benedict stood on a palazzo balcony with a chunk of marble in his paw.

It had good heft. It was once the corner of a tile on the ground floor, that had swollen and cracked when the house flooded. He prised it from the mud and grout, and took it in his pocket. A boat-beast idled in the canal below. Benedict dropped it on his head, then ran and hid in a cupboard, squalling. When his father found him he birched him so cruelly he could not bear to sit. The shame still caused him to squirm, the shame of it and the hundred little wrongs he committed as a child: a word misspoken, a book of voluptuaries hidden and discovered. Like bloat after a grease-sodden feast, regret struck quickly and festered in the gut.

He uncorked the poppy syrup and took a draught. The vial was little diminished- the Doctor would not deceive him that way, he knew. His girl-kit sniffled and mewled, so he poured a dab of syrup on his paw and offered it to suckle. It would keep her quiet until she could nurse from whatever old rag he found and paid.

Cavern Hole in the early morning was quiet but for the rustling of refugees, the crackling of the fire. He tightened the scarf he wore around his head, pulled the blanket about him. No one had yet recognized him. He had nothing to worry for.

He could leave the stolen book outside the Doctor's door. He would not have to face him, then- or the child. If he opened the book, it might contain a litany of the thousand buffooneries that brought him here, the idiot cruelties he had done to his hosts: whoever found him outside the gates, the Doctor, the sister who refused him his draught. Blessed sister, blessed- however the falling-sickness, the headaches wracked him.

He glared at the vial, then drank again. He opened the book to its end, ready to whisper his sins to the leaves. A marker fell out, a tattered hide triangle furred on one side.

"'S that n'ear?" he hissed at the girl-kit. "Who would do that?"

"Wha?" said some nearby sleeper.

"Nuh-uh." Words congealed in his mouth, stoppered his throat with sputum. He took the ear between two claws and tossed it in the fireplace.

_Jeremy says there are strong winds from the north._ A blotch. Wrinkled pages. The smell of fire, stone, aging paper vanilla-sweet. _Brimstone looks me in the eye and I see nothing but perfect obedience. My project continues. Tomorrow, more grafts._

Benedict closed the book. The thought of climbing the stairs to the study prickled and twisted and stung. The thought of the beast groaning as it walked like bent metal, like the ache of broken bones-

He read; he tried to understand. The words seemed to smear; when he tried to hold them they spread like oil splashed over water. He rubbed the tender, swollen spot on his snout, and took another slurp of syrup.

At last he stood and stretched, and picked over the ranks of stirring Abbeybeasts. He thought he saw Clare, but it was only some other white-furred creature; they looked bright and hopeful, stretching like they'd taken a satisfying nap in dappled sunlight on a summer day.

He nibbled a claw. He hoped the hog's child had not been hurt. He did not recall what he had done that evening, and the Professor's journal screamed shame. It would be too gizzard-twistingly awful to go now and apologize. Like as not the Doctor would hit him again. He took the poker from beside the hearth and prodded the smoldering logs, then fed them the book.


	52. 49: He That Dies Pays All Debts

**Chapter 49. He That Dies Pays All Debts**

_by Avery_

"If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart,

Absent thee from felicity awhile,

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,

To tell my story."

- _Hamlet_

Avery eventually got up, his stomach aching and his breath coming in sharp gasps. Stupid vole. He'd pay for that. He stumbled slowly to the abbey building and pounded on the door.

"Damn your miserable hides, let me in!" he bellowed through the door. "There's a bloody badger of death out here!"

The door finally creaked inward and Avery forced his way through the gap.

"Captain Selwyn! Where have you been?" Skanza came hurrying toward him.

Avery shoved aside one of the mice guarding the door. "Out of the way, out of the way!"

"I said, _where have you been_?" The Major stood with paws akimbo, her eyes boring into his.

"Nothing, nowhere!" he said, waving a paw carelessly. "Moonshot's just told the badger he's the professor and in so doing has probably doomed us all, but, you know, no big deal..."

"_What?"_

"Anyway, have they got any food in that Big Hall place or whatever it's called? I'm starving."

Skanza gripped his shoulders hard. "You mean to tell me the badger is inside the walls?"

"Of course he is," said the mouse guard. "That's why we all retreated in here."

"Well, thanks for bothering to tell us, you idiots!" Skanza roared. "I suppose you just wanted all of the army to stay out there and die?"

"Typical woodlander trick," Avery snorted. "You started by killing us one by one, but clearly that wasn't fast enough. Or maybe you just thought if you got the badger to do it, your consciences would be clear!"

"Oh, I think it's time you stopped talking about clear consciences."

Kapler and Rosemary appeared in the entrance hall.

"What are you talking about?" Avery sneered.

"There was a hair in the Foremole's room," Rosemary announced, holding up a thin strand. "A ferret's hair."

"Well, obviously it was mine, because I'm the only ferret here." Avery rolled his eyes.

The haremaid produced an identical hair and held it up as well. "You left this on me after our fight, too. You killed Bartolomeo and made it look like the Foremole did it!"

"That's...that's ridiculous," Avery stammered. "Get out of here...with your...your broken woodlander logic..."

To his utter surprise, Kapler darted forward with a terrific yell and tackled him to the floor. Avery grappled with him, his teeth and claws seeking any bit of flesh they could find. They rolled into a table, knocking several ornate candlesticks to the floor. He could hear several beasts yelling, but their words were lost on him as he bit and clawed at his foe.

"Get...off...me!" Avery spat.

"No!" Kapler snarled. "I'm gonna kill you!"

Avery's flailing paws finally found his dagger hilt and he slashed wildly. Kapler fell back as blood burst from a deep cut on his cheek.

"Idiot woodlander," he snarled, crawling toward his prey with his dagger raised. "You can't kill me. You're just not smart...enough..."

He hadn't noticed Kapler reaching for something near him until he was swinging it with all his might. A blinding pain erupted in his skull. Stars burst across his vision, and then everything faded into darkness.

Kapler dropped the candlestick and scrambled away from Avery.

"Kapler! What have you done?" The abbot had appeared, obviously having heard the commotion.

"I didn't...He deserved it! Broke my paw...Killed that hare," Kapler groaned, clutching at his bloody cheek.

"I don't care! You've shed more blood here. When the vermin leaders find out what you've done, they'll..."

Skanza, who had been standing by, frozen by the scene that had unfolded, finally lurched into action. She darted forward and kicked Kapler hard in the side.

"Get out of here, or your blood will be spilled next!"

"Do not use violence in these walls!" the abbot protested.

"I'll use whatever I want if you don't get out of here right now, all of you. Get out!" The ferret snatched up one of the candlesticks and tore through the hall, delivering harsh blows to anybeast that dared to try and protest. After many shrieks, thuds, and cracks, the Redwallers were forced to retreat, leaving Skanza alone with Avery. The ferret dropped the candlestick with a clatter and it rolled away across the flagged stone floor.

"Oh, Selwyn!" Skanza growled. "What have you done to yourself?"

She knelt by his crumpled form and, with some trepidation, laid a paw upon his bleeding forehead. She shut her eyes tight and breathed a heavy sigh.

* * *

"_Go 'way, Avery."_

_Why was he here, anyway? He was always following her home after their lessons. And what a home. Skanza glared at the rickety dump. It always looked so beaten down and defeated, much like its occupants._

"_I just wanna talk, Skanza." He grinned at her from underneath his oversized beret, a lop-sided grin that all the other maids in their lessons might find cute. She supposed, anyway. She didn't know._

"_Why?" she demanded, pausing. What good was talking? It was all Avery ever seemed to do. She never saw the point._

_Avery shrugged. "I just wanna talk. You always just run home after lessons and never talk to anybeast. Why?"_

"_None o' your business!" Skanza shrieked. "Now go on, get outta here before...he hears us."_

"_But I can't leave." Avery went down on one knee and struck a stupidly dramatic pose. Skanza noted with glee the_ squelch _his knee made as it sank into the muddy path leading to her door. Avery grimaced, but continued, "I'm just a young lad, Skanza, but you know I've been smitten by you since the day we met. Smitten, I say! Smitten as a kitten with a...a new pair o' mittens!"_

_Skanza pulled a face. This again? She thought he would've grown out of it by now. Why her? There were countless other maids in Blackgorse. So many beautiful maids, the kind whose scornful comments and mocking titters followed her wherever she went. She, she was half a maid, if that. She was ruined, tarnished, and everybeast knew it. Everybeast except this grinning idiot before her._

"_No, Avery. Not this again. Just go 'way. Go see Mariona Pyre or somethin'," she snapped, throwing out the first name of the aforementioned maids that she could think of._

_Avery cocked his head quizzically to one side. "Mariona Pyre? But she's such a boor, Skanza. You, you're beautiful an'...an' mysterious an'...I just can't resist. I..."_

_His mouth gaped to suck in a deep breath, and he closed his eyes. Skanza froze in dread. He was going to sing, wasn't he? She could tell by the expression on his face._

"_Don't..." she began, but he cut her off._

"_Her eyes they sing to me_

_A trembly gorgeous stanza,_

_I bathe in umber pools_

_And long for my sweet Skanza..."_

_Without thinking she lashed out, her fist catching him in the eye. Avery's quavering note and his yelp of pain melded in a strangled glissando. She laughed. It felt good to make him hurt. Everybeast should hurt the same. It just wasn't fair, otherwise._

_He smiled at her still, though tears of pain streamed from his eyes. It wasn't fair. How could he still smile? He had to stop. It was too much._

"_Stop it, Avery! Stop it!" Her fists surged forward, one after the other, but the smile still remained. Eventually she gave up and lowered her fists, chest heaving with exertion. "I hate you, Avery Selwyn," she spat._

_Still he smiled. "It's okay. Someday you won't. I can wait."_

"_Skanz. Skanz!"_

_The familiar drunken slurs sounded from inside the hovel, sending a shiver down Skanza's spine. A grubby ferret staggered out the door and bumped into her in his daze. His clothes, once fine, had been long stained by alcohol and assorted rubbish. Several teeth were missing in his crooked, yellow grin._

"_Thar y'are, Daughter," he said, putting a paw on her shoulder and squeezing it gently._

_Skanza wanted to melt away from his touch, down into the mud, down below the earth, where he couldn't reach._

"_Get out of here now, Avery," she said, her voice trembling._

"_But..."_

"Get out!" _she shrieked._

_Avery picked himself up out of the mud and scurried off. Her father seemed to just notice him for the first time._

"_Yah, go on," he slurred. "Stay 'way from my daughter." A single paw digit traced the outline of her velvety ear. "She's mine."_

_Everything inside her screamed until it could scream no more._

* * *

"Fool," Skanza whispered. "You actually waited. And for what? Where has your chivalry gotten you?"

The smile was finally gone from his lips. Without it he looked sad and lonely. Skanza couldn't bear to look for long. It made her hurt. It wasn't supposed to make her hurt.

The army was in ruins, it was clear to see. Moonshot could not control the badger for long. He would destroy them all. Maybe...maybe she didn't owe it to him to stay and fight a losing battle. Maybe she owed another beast. The only beast that had ever actually cared for her.

"Let's get you out of here, Selwyn," she said, hoisting Avery into her arms. She knew he didn't want to spend another second in here with all these woodlanders, and right now, neither did she.

She tore down the barricade at the wall gate and carried Avery out into the woodlands. She reached the slushy road and stopped, with no clue where to go next.

Luckily, the direction came to her. A group of Red Fire soldiers appeared out of the woodlands, headed by a strange weasel in a crimson cape.

"Who are you?" Skanza demanded.

"Captain Serendipity Gildalily at your service," she crooned. "Oh my, is that...Cookie?"

"No, it's Avery," Skanza corrected.

"He was our ship's cook. Terrible, he was. He deserted. I see he's not faired too well since. Is he...?"

"I'm not sure. He was hit pretty hard." _But I've probably hit him harder..._

"Well, if he isn't, my First Mate here will gladly finish the job. Ruthliss!"

The sinewy stoat stepped forward, cutlass gleaming.

"She'll do no such thing!" Skanza growled, taking up a defensive stance. "And if you think you can just take over this squad of soldiers, you're mistaken. My name is Skanza Whortle. _Major_ Skanza Whortle. I believe that outranks captain."

"But he's a deserter! I kill all deserters," Serendipity whined, stamping a footpaw petulantly.

"And I'll rip your innards out and feed them to you if you come near him. Red Fire soldiers, to me."

The soldiers broke away from the small contingent of corsairs and went to join Avery and Skanza.

"But what about the badger?" Serendipity implored them. "He slaughtered most of our crew and now he's cornered in Redwall! We can't stop chasing him now! We need you!"

"The badger can't be killed," Skanza snapped. "He has no weakness. I have fought him myself. Trust me, it is a waste of time. He will kill every beast in Redwall, even the kits. Moonshot is as good as dead. Go join them in their graves if that's what you feel like doing." She turned to her contingent. "Let's go."

"Wait, where are you going?" Ruthliss called.

"Captain Bartolomeo told me he left his ship moored on the River Moss. I'm taking it and sailing away from here."

"Barty!" Serendipity cried. "How is the floppy-eared old chap?"

"Dead," Skanza said simply.

The weasel's face fell. "Oh. Rotten luck, that."

Skanza nodded, then turned and began leading her soldiers out into the snowy woodlands.

"Major," a fox said, "is it true that Moonshot is as good as dead?"

She nodded grimly. "Aye. They all are. You lot were lucky you didn't get trapped in that abbey as well. No matter. I'll find us some place warm, where we can settle down. No more invasions or risking our necks all for that fool and his shiny stones. How does that sound?"

"Sounds fantastic, Major." The fox grinned.

"Wait!"

Skanza halted, turning. Serendipity and her corsairs were hurrying toward them.

"We want to come with you," she said. "You'll need seasoned corsairs to help sail that ship. An all lubber crew can be dangerous."

Skanza shrugged. "Whatever. Just keep up."

Skanza and her crew marched off into the woodlands, never to be seen in Mossflower again.

The next thing Avery knew was a thick fog. He got up, surprised his head didn't hurt anymore. He spun around, but all he saw was fog and more fog. Where was he?

"Hello?" he called out, more to break the unnerving silence than anything.

"Hello," a familiar voice answered.

An abnormally tall figure loomed out of the fog. As it drew closer, Avery realized with a jolt of panic that it only looked so tall because of a pair of long, ridiculous ears.

"Er, hello, Captain Bart," he stammered. "Ahaha, er. Um. Nice to...I mean, how's...That is, how are...Where are we?"

Bartolomeo sighed. "Save your bally breath, Avery. Besides, I can't kill you here anyway. We're in the Void."

"The...Void?"

"Think of it as the sort of halfway point between the living world and Dark Forest," Bart explained.

"You mean I'm dead? You mean that sodding little vole _killed _me?"

Bart bobbed his head from side to side, a rather sadistic grin on his face. It was clear he was enjoying this. "Sort of. Sort of not, though, doncha know."

"You're not making any sense. And anyway, what are _you_ doing here? You are definitely dead...aren't you?"

Bart's grin widened. "I'm so glad you asked, old chap. Yes, I'm dead. Thanks a bally heap for that, by the way."

Avery gulped.

"Lord Vulpuz sent me here. When somebeast goes to the Void instead of straight to Dark Forest, sometimes, for a bit of fun, he sends an important soul from that beast's past to them, to decide if the beast is ready for his long rest."

Avery's eyes widened. "You mean..."

"Yes," said Bart gleefully. "I can't technically kill you, old bean, but I can decide whether or not you're actually dead. Hmm, this _will _be a tough choice."

Avery knew then and there that he was doomed. There was no way that Bartolomeo would let him live. He suddenly wished he could kill the hare all over again. The ignominy of being at his mercy was tearing at his insides.

Bart leaned in close, his voice low and deadly serious. "If I were you, I'd start begging, wot."

"I'll never beg to a dirty woodlander like you!" Avery bellowed into his face.

"Yes you will, old chap," Bart scoffed, sneering. "You know why? Because you're a ruddy coward. Always have been, always will be. You couldn't face me, you had to stab me in the back! You couldn't stand up to Moonshot and you couldn't tell your dear Skanza the truth. You're pathetic. Your life is worthless."

Avery sank to his knees and howled his misery to the surrounding fog. "Shut up! _Shut up!_"

Bart circled Avery like a predator circling its wounded prey. "You know it's true! You've always known, haven't you? That's why you hate woodlanders so much. You're just afraid of them. Afraid because they're different. Afraid because they're perfectly capable of the same things as you. But you found comfort in that prejudice, didn't you, laddie? It made you feel big and important when in reality, you were just a spoiled coward who could never, ever win his father's approval. Admit it! Admit it! _Admit it!_"

"It's true!" Avery wailed, now prostrate before the hare. "I am, I am a coward. I'm so sorry, Bart, I'm so sorry! Please, let me live. I have to see Skanza again. I love her. I love her! I loved her when no one else did!" He sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. "So you're wrong about one thing. My life isn't worthless. I loved Skanza unconditionally. Blackgorse chewed her up and spit her out, but I didn't care what anybeast said or how many times she took her rage out on me. I stood up for her, I waited for her. If that's not bravery, well, then, I don't know what is."

Bart frowned, deep in thought. Avery waited with bated breath.

After what seemed an eternity, the hare opened his mouth...

end of week five.


	53. 50: Interlude (Tea)Party

beginning of week six.  


**Chapter 50. Interlude (Tea)Party**

_by Russel_

"You look like you're in a good mood."

Russel shrugged at his son. "Eh, suppose I can't complain."

"Then I guess you found something, huh?" David's eyebrow raised, the crest of a question mark.

"Well, yes and no. No sign of our favorite feline. Yet. But we did find something interesting in Foremole's quarters."

"I thought those were locked."

"They are. Were."

David frowned and wagged a claw at his father. "Aw, why didn't you tell me? I would have loved to try the old lock pick trick again."

"I wanted to teach Kapler."

"Oh. Where is he, by the by?"

The hog shrugged. "We searched another room and he excused himself. I didn't want to keep searching without him and I had calibrations to calibrate for the ballista, so I decided to nip back to my study and, well, here I am!"

His son nodded and that was that. Russel sat down at the table, expecting to just sit there and rest. But his son had a surprise.

"I sort of…lied before. We aren't entirely out of tea."

He produced the doctor's favorite – well, second favorite after David had…misplaced his fist favorite – tea set, a kettle spouting steam like a cheery fire, the saucers and cups gathered around it to thaw.

"Oh, David, you brilliant, brilliant boy! I…wait. Don't tell me I've got another light-fingers to deal with?"

David shook his head, spikes rattling. "We had extra stored somewhere. Just had to go hunting for it is all. Hunt long enough in your study, actually, and I'm sure I'd find an entire banquet."

Russel stared at the tea set, still not entirely convinced.

"Shouldn't we…shouldn't we have told the Abbot that we had extra?"

"Tea's tea. It's not vital food. If we had tea and biscuits, that would be another matter, but this is just a cup of tea, nothing more."

Russel regarded the tray as though figuring out a complex equation. "I suppose you're right. On most counts. But remember one thing, David, one thing you got very, very wrong." His face was stone serious as he stared at his son. In the span of a second, it burst into a smile. "A cup of tea's never just a cup of tea. It's an experience!"

The hog let the aroma stretch it's tendrils up into his nose, heat wafting over his face, the spiced tan twinge of a scent curl around his nostrils. He shook himself a bit, spikes rattling their approval. Russel took a careful drink, the warmth hugging his tongue, every fiber of the muscle moving to embrace the liquid.

"Mm…said it before, say it again, David. It's an experience." He took another drink. "Where has your mother gone off to, by the way? She would love –"

The sound of a tremor coursing through the tea tray stopped his words dead. A pair of pained eyes bore into Russel like carpenter's screws.

"Three seasons, Dad, three seasons."

Russel could feel recently swallowed tea lapping against the back of his throat, chased by something chalky.

"David,"

"I'm tired of you forgetting her!"

Even the clock seemed quieter now, drowned by the sound of porcelain still shuffling about, unable to decide if this was the best place to settle, considering what was going on.

"David, I'm sorry –"

"You're sorry. You're so sorry. Every time, Dad, I…" The young hog deflated into a chair. "I'm sorry, now. But Dad, you can't keep doing this. It's like…when you forget, it's like it never happened or that…she wasn't enough to bother…"

Any other beast making such an accusation would have gotten a stern talking to. For David, Russel crossed toward the hog, sat down next to him and put his arm around his shoulders.

"David, I want you to look at me. Really look. I loved your mother. I loved her more than anything in the world, and that goes for you, too. I could lose all of this," He gestured about the study. "And as long as I had you and your Mom, I would be fine."

"Then promise me you'll do something."

There was a dead-set depth in that glance, in that tone, words about to be permanently engraved in metal.

"What is that?"

"Find a way so that you don't go around forgetting all the time. About her."

Russel's head turned about the room, well oiled, focused. He had been thinking about it lately, that was the funny thing. More than a few times, he was going to take it out to use it, but he'd let off on it. After patting his son on the back, Russel got to his footpaws, beginning what felt like a long stroll until he came to the counter and the box. It stared back at him, the lid already open a crack as though he were expected. Russel obliged the old box.

Light erupted into a dance as the wood cleared and the shadow washed away. Big lenses, small lenses, clear lenses, tinted lenses, glass of blue, yellow, gold, orange, some wrapped in aged metal, others stuck through with simple wire wrapped around; all of them seemed to wink at him as he stared back. He felt he should smile, but didn't.

Lua: she had always been improving herself. Couldn't sit still a moment, her. When she wasn't busy reading books upside down or trying to cook blindfolded, she worked on this. She never finished, but then, that was never the point.

"It's never finished, Russel. What's the point in finishing? Ends are for tears and goodbyes and reminiscing; the journey is where the laughter and memories are built. And if the journey never ends, well…"

He wrapped loose claws around the oldest lens. He tensed. He pulled. All at once, there was the weight of just that one slice of glass, that one band of metal, the slight sting of the loose wire. Russel raised the lens to the light. It stared back at him, blinking from time to time. This time he smiled. The hog pocketed the piece, keeping it close to his chest.

All through the day and for as long as he wore that apron, there would be that weight, alien, slightly uncomfortable. He'd probably try to forget it was there, but every time he moved quicker than he should, every time there was an unexpected curve in the floor or a leap he had to make, it would hit against his chest. And he would remember. He would remember for his son.

A commotion clattered off of the surrounding walls, bouncing into his ear to wriggle like a loathsome moth. Any other occasion, Russel would have ignored it to return to his work, but there was something particularly distressing about this racket's buzzing. The passing otters spoke two words in close proximity to one another, two words that, as soon as they met, Russel could see the resulting reaction: Kapler and Avery. The meaning of a lone, long, white hair in the wash basin was suddenly clear. Russel made for the door to his study.

"David, watch my…things."

Behind him, his son said something over the sound of his door latch clicking shut, but Russel's ears wouldn't hear. He had other things running through his mind, other thoughts dominating his attention. His son's words could be heard about as well as he could feel his new weight pounding against his chest as he raced down the halls, the clattering of his footpaws on the carpet mimicking his heartbeat.


	54. 51: Time to Think

**Chapter 51. Time to Think**

_by Kapler_

_I made plans to go away_

_And never to return_

_I did not think I'd feel this way_

_But this is what I've learned_

All this work, all this time gaining trust, and he let it slip through his paws.

No, he'd thrown it from his paws, smashed it to the floor, a flame snuffed from its wick, a candle thrown from its stick, away into the darkness.

Why?

Hidden in the side room, ribs aching, stride counting the bricks, Kapler groaned and tugged at his ears. Why? Why? Avery's look of shock and surprise loomed, threatening in its vulnerability. Dead dead dead. It was over. Well-deserved revenge, bitter, not sweet. All over.

Voices – outraged, scared, confused – hurried past the closed door in a jumble of emotions. The commotion in the hall continued, absent one culprit.

"Kapler!" Headspikes rattling with barely-controlled anger, Russel barged into the room. "What was that?"

The last beast Kapler wanted to see, and the first. The door clicked shut like the locking of manacles, the cage now closed. He hugged his satchel and backed away. "I didn't mean to!" Weak, unconvincing, but anything to avoid punishment.

"Didn't mean to? That was…that…" For once, the Doctor's eloquence disappeared, hidden away in a pocket for a more appropriate time. He slammed his fist against the wall. Pain flitted across his features, but an old pain inured through long experience.

"I-it was an accident." Kapler scrunched his eyes shut, opened them to Russel's muzzle inches from his own.

"Accident? That!" He pointed to the closed door, to the experience still pooling on the floor tiles. "That was a candlestick, Kap! To his skull!"

"He deserved it!"

Heavy paws, disciplinary paws, settled on his shoulders. "No beast deserves to die!"

Kapler quailed and tried to squirm away. "I'm sorry!" The cool wash of fear was soothing familiarity against his shame. "Didn't mean to…just, the sight of that nosing, arrogant ferret, smug, getting away with it! Why should he when I never…" His mashed fingers throbbed, like a bubbling cauldron where his anger simmered, ready to boil over into the rest of him. He flexed his paw and welcomed the concise pain. "I had to."

Russel loomed, gaze intense. Then, like a week-old flower, he wilted, arms drooping as he stepped backwards. "I've given you so many chances, Kapler. So many. Stealing's one thing." Russel stuck his paws deep in his pockets and stared at Kapler, emotion hidden under inscrutable expression. "Killing somebeast is completely different. I thought you were better than that."

The disappointment in Russel's voice was a crushing weight. Add another to the litany. Failure again. It tugged at Kapler, familiar and unwanted, something he had picked up and was never able to put down. "I…" He should have ran when he had the chance. His farewell died on his lips. He'd never had to do this before; always before it was him being kicked out. "Doctor Song, I'm—"

A knock on the door preceded Abbot Cloverleaf's entrance, trailing two otters behind. "Doctor Song, step away from Kapler, please."

Russel frowned. "What's this? What's going on?"

"We're turning this criminal over to Moonshot." With a curt paw wave, the Abbot motioned his escorts to grab Kapler.

"No!" Kapler bolted for the door, but the otters grabbed his arms, arresting his movement. "No, he already wants to kill me! Doctor Song!" After what he did, was Doctor Song just going to let him be stolen away to his doom? Kapler scrabbled at the floor and lurched around to plead with the hedgehog. "Russel!"

"You can't do this, Abbot!" Fresh indignation could be heard in Russel's footsteps as he came up behind Kapler.

The Abbot growled and stood in the way. "And what are we to tell them, Doctor? That we are offering our protection to a beast that has clearly killed one of their own? We must keep order in this abbey. We must have justice."

"Justice?" The anger in Kapler, newly awakened, eager to prove itself, leapt at a memory. "What's under your bed? What about that?"

Kapler watched a stiffness travel up the Abbot's back. He whirled, eyes narrow, jaw set. "How do you know about that?"

"Doesn't matter." Kapler couldn't look away, didn't try. His whiskers quivered. "All for you?"

"Um, sorry, what are we talking about?"

"This thief—"

"He has food in his room! A whole stash!"

"What?" Kapler could feel the uncertainty trickling through the otters.

Russel gaped. "Is that true?"

"Are you going to believe this—"

"Is that true?"

Abbot Cloverleaf looked about to run, but the four between him and the door ended that prospect. His tail lashed. "Yes…it's true."

"Of all that…for the sake of…just…ugggh! Voles!" Russel threw up his paws and stalked across the room.

"Abbot!

"How? Why?"

Forgotten, Kapler massaged his bad paw while the otters collected the protesting Abbot.

"It…wasn't that much." Unshed tears gleamed from behind the Abbot's graying fur. For the briefest of moments, Kapler felt sorry for him. "I'm the Abbot! I think I'm entitled to it!"

"What about my wife? My dibbuns? They barely got crusts f'r brekkist this morning!"

"There's still plenty of food…"

"Hey, hey hey!" Russel stared at nothing, head cocked to one side, nose up, quills silent.

Kapler recognized that look: intense contemplation. "What is it?"

"Listen!"

No beast moved for a long moment. Kapler's nose twitched. He tried to think what was wrong, what Russel was getting at. Silence.

One of the otters finally shrugged. "I don't hear anything."

"Exactly! Where is everybeast? Come on Kap." Russel moved for the doorway.

"Hold up! We can't just let you take him, Doctor Song. He still attacked that ferret. We need to—"

"Yeah, well, sure. He could go with you. You could hand him over to Moonshot and lose out on all he has to offer. A lot, by the way. Or, he could come with me."

Kapler jerked his head up, surprise lending his face a look of incredulousness.

Russel smiled. "He's my assistant. Don't know what I'd do without him. Now, you two make sure the abbybeasts are safe." He looked at the Abbot, altogether not pleased. "And well fed."

Cloverleaf looked about to say something, but he only licked his lips, nodded and left between the two otters. They looked more like guards than attendants.

Kapler watched him go, then turned to Russel. "Are you…did you mean it, what you said?"

Russel winked. "Of course. We have a lot of work to do."


	55. 52: In each other

**Chapter 52. In each other's shadow we grew less and less tall**

_by Vivienne_

There was one place on the abbey grounds that Vivienne had been avoiding. Moonshot's vermin had spread across the main lawn like an infestation of grey-capped mushrooms; dirty canvas billowed, a weak contrast to the muddy tramped thoroughfares. The wren kept her flights short and frantic as she slipped among the quiet camp: a bark of laughter got her to the next tent; a crackling of a sod log helped her along a tent's edge; a hard slap of fabric in the wind escorted her to the horde leader's own pavilion-tent.

As Viv rested, nested in a fold of canvas, she looked over the squalid camp. Unwanted sympathy tugged her tailfeathers like an insistent kit. Most of the shelters were bottomless, leaving the occupants perched on blankets which had long since sunk into the muddy slush. Even for the more austere surroundings of the captains, the fabric floors had flooded. Everywhere she turned was a new horror: old wounds, old smells, old hatred.

_Where is that lad? I can't stand much -_

A steady tromp of paws in mud, like a dozen armored vintners stomping grapes, reminded the wren of her precarious position. She wriggled herself back in the canvas, hiding in a crevice formed by a poorly tied-down corner. She pressed her eyes shut and could do nothing more than shake in place as a pair stopped right outside her hiding spot.

They conversed in low hisses, the words drowned out by the rush of blood in Viv's ears. The cold ground made her feet feel numb and heavy beneath her, rooting the bird. One moved closer, scraping the mud off of his paws with the haft of his spear. Flecks spattered against her hiding place, making the canvas leap toward her. She crushed herself closer to the wall of the tent.

"Get your paws off of there!"

The indignant cry came from right next to Viv's ear; she startled at the noise. Her eyes clenched tighter as she willed her body to stay still. Her breath came in ragged, little hiccups and the niche seemed to be closer, oppressive, now.

But the hissing had stopped, and she could make out a wet shuffling noise moving away - the troops worried at earning their leader's wrath, apparently.

"Why do you collect this rubbish?" That voice was deep and ponderous, a passacaglia advancing on the ear. "I don't remember you ever wanting something as useless as gold, Professor."

"He didn't mean it, my pets, honest!" The higher voice was on edge, sounding aggrieved. "Besides, after this, Brimstone, I plan to give you a once-over twice."

"The Professor's plans never included gems."

"Well, my plans have been altered. Some garnets and rose-gold would go a long way to keeping you looking nice enough for court, but still rough enough to crack a skull or two before afternoon tea."

The tent was silent for a moment. "Why would a weapon be needed at court, Professor?"

The reply was light, offhand. "You should be a versatile weapon, Brimstone. A club is only good for a few things."

"And here? Why use me on these weaklings? Why even attack this place?"

Moonshot began to sound irritated. "You ask a lot of questions for a mere weapon."

"I'm not a fool, Professor. You made sure of that."

"Fine!" Moonshot gave an over-dramatic sigh. "That mouse's armor. In the big tapestry? We need it to finish you."

The badger didn't sound convinced. "Mouse armor? Really?"

"We'd work it into shape, of course. But it's a special metal, you see! Absolutely necessary. And it must be studded with gems, which shall reflect the light in a specific and terribly important way."

"Hmm..."

A guard's gruff voice from outside interrupted their discussion. "Chief! Got somethin' for ya!"

"I didn't do nothin'!" A protest accompanied the guard.

Viv gave a strangled moan. She clapped both wings over her beak and prayed to herself. _Oh, Fates and Feathers, Jinck. What've you done, you foolish little fuzzball?_

Two loud thumps announced the badger moving closer to her. There was a deep sniff from the other side of the canvas, followed by a low "hmm". Viv contracted further, keeping her eyes closed but her ears open.

Moonshot: "Oh, and what is this?"

The guard: "We caught him poking around, sir. Said he was looking for Captain Avery."

Moonshot: "Interesting. Go on, then. You've tracked snow in here and bringing me this prize just barely excuses that."

After a brief shuffling of paws, Moonshot spoke up again: "All right, then, kit. Captain Selwyn met an unfortunate end at the paws of that vole who stole from me. Now, you have a very brief window before I convince my large, violent friend here to crush you under a large rock."

Jinck sounded panicked: "I swear I didn't know, sir! Please, I need t'go!"

Moonshot: "Oh, that won't do. First, a name?"

Jinck: "Jinck."

Moonshot: "Jinck. A small and insignificant name. How did you know the Captain?"

Jinck: "I told 'im about th' vole - Kap! That's all!"

Moonshot: "That makes things a bit more interesting. What else did you tell him?"

Jinck: "I... nothin'."

Moonshot: "Tch. That won't do. Perhaps Brimstone can start with an arm? He could crush it, or simply pull it off..."

That badger... Brimstone?: "Professor... this isn't exactly what you -"

Moonshot: "Enough of that. Talk, whelp!"

Jinck: "Th't bird! I killed th't bird, Solgrim. I'm s'sorry, sir, but he attacked us! Me an' M-Miss Viv. I didn't mean t'! I didn't -"

Moonshot, talking over: "Really? We had a bird? What was it?"

Jinck: "I - what?"

Brimstone: "You? You bested that buzzard with the spirit of iron?"

Jinck: "I - I -"

Moonshot: "A buzzard? Well... that would be... would you like to sit down, Jinck?"

Jinck: "Wait. Yer not... I mean, yer not going to..."

Moonshot: "No, I'm not going to..." [A shuffling of fabric] "I didn't even know I had a buzzard. But a stripling kit able to best a buzzard? That's something worth cultivating. Here, have some wine and woodpigeon - it's a chore sneaking it past these ninny woodlanders, but worth it."

Jinck: "Oh, no thanks, sir. I mean... I'd rather not."

Moonshot's voice became sharp: "You know, a lack of courtesy is one of the worst sins."

Jinck: "Oh. Oh! Well... thanks s'much, sir."

_Ugh..._ Viv cringed at the smacking sounds of Jinck trying to be over-enthusiastic.

Moonshot: "Now, talk. You've proved interesting enough, now be useful."

Jinck: "Mrph? Huh?"

Moonshot: "Who's Miss Viv?"

Jinck: "She looks after a bunch of us kits an' dibbuns. She's a wren."

Moonshot: "Really? And here you are eating a pigeon... And does this wren know many other birds? I'd like to know of a hidden, winged troupe, for instance?"

Jinck: "Nothing like th't! I mean, she knows jus' about everybeast 'n the wood. But nothin' like th't."

Moonshot: "And she doesn't have a family? She looks after all of you because..."

Jinck, still sounding worried: "She never really tol' me. She's got... Auntie Jacqueline and Auntie Lynne, but they haven't been about in a bit."

Moonshot: "And these kits?"

Jinck: "The Mottlefeathers."

Moonshot: "And?"

Jinck: "She jus' looks after us. 's all. In a nest by the kitchens"

Moonshot: "And they're here?" A pause. "You're almost too old for kiddie games, though, right? Can you..."

Jinck: "They listen t' me, yeah."

Moonshot: "Good... good... My lad, if you want to stay with us - and it looks like you do - you'll have to bring them out here. Now, we won't hurt them any -"

Jinck: "I dunno..."

Moonshot: "Well, they're not going to let a murderer back in there, will they?" A pause. "No, I didn't think so. So, either do this for us, or be alone... or Brimstone could take care of you."

Jinck: "No! No, I'll do't."

Moonshot: "Excellent! Most excellent! Now, get out of here. Find a tent for yourself. I have a half-dozen uncomfortable captains listening outside, waiting for orders, and trying not to be caught eavesdropping."

Sure enough, there was a rustle by the front of the tent; another announced Jinck's departure. It was all Viv could do to not burst from cover and swoop up her son. Instead, she leaned forward, peeking around the canvas. As she was about to take off, she heard Moonshot again.

"Well, my large-eared and small-minded minions, listen close. Send a small force to the kitchens. Find this "nest" and let me know if he is telling the truth. We'll then work on dismantling the smaller kitchen doors - say you're going to use them as a floor for my tent, I could use a new one. I want them to strike you first. No weapons at the moment. When they're distracted, we'll get the main gate open. Brimstone, I want you, then, to remove the main doors from their hinges."

The badger asked, "And the beasts inside?"

Moonshot replied, "Remove them, too."

A voice spoke up, sounding irritated, "There are many able bodies in there! We should get them out, first!"

"It'll draw too much attention, Cromley."

"Then, at least let us get their weapons back, first. The kitchen beasts might not be armed, but the rest of them should be. And we can let the beasts inside leave slowly, a few at a time. Maybe the best?"

"Fine," Moonshot said, "I'll leave you in charge of picking out the best. Brimstone, perhaps you can accompany a dozen beasts to the gatehouse to retrieve our arms?"

A voice from around the edge of the tent brought Viv away from the planning. "Oy... look at the mud, mate. A bird's been 'round 'ere."

The wren gave a little peep, then burst from cover, flapping hard straight up. Shouts came from behind her, but Viv paid them no mind. When she rose high as the walls, she pulled up short and set an eye to the ground.

Jinck was gone again, probably back in the Abbey by now.

Viv made for the main building, keeping up high, looking for the windows to Dr. Song's rooms. Above them, on the uppermost floor, a shape caught her eye. As she neared, she saw it was a cat - Benny's wife. She was sitting on the sill, her paws dangling out over empty space. _What is that ninny thinking, out here in that condition?_

Viv landed next to the cat, who shot her a slit-eyed glare. Viv said, "Fine day for the fresh air, eh?"

"Go away."

"Wait a moment..." Viv said, leaning in. Something was different - she was - she was thinner! "The kittens came! Oh my -"

At Clare's low growl, Viv quieted down. "Oh. Oh, dear..." Viv held out a tentative wing. "I know what this is like..."

"I asked you to go away."

"Look," Viv gently worked a wing about the cat and continued, "I know it's scary at first. Imagine raising a lad who could eat you! Still... you have to be a mother, you know?"

The cat finally lowered her defenses, her face falling into a deep frown. "I didn't realize what it would... I'll have to always be with him, now. And he ran away again and again. And them - they were grasping and crying and I couldn't..."

"Shh... it'll be all right, dear." Viv patted Clare's shoulder. "You need to see to them, though, no matter what he does. And he tried before! He sent me to find out if you were... if he could rescue you."

Clare glanced up. "He did?"

"Yes," Viv said, "now, please come with me. We need to get the kittens with you. I'll even have the Mottlefeathers help you out! The older ones can help you take care of them and the younger ones can help play with them. It'll work out!"

Finally, Clare nodded, working herself back off of the windowsill. "Yes. Yes, you're right."

As the odd pair picked their way through the room and down the corridor, Viv let her mind wander. Now all I need to do is find that derelict tom. Weedy and prissy or not, he's a cat, and now that we've got his wife under our eye... And Doctor Song and Vidya, they're probably with the Mottles. A good - well, sometimes-good - mind and a backbone. Kap will hopefully be around. Oh, Kap... if he killed that beast like they said…

They heard the Mottles before they saw them, a wave of spastic sounds bouncing off the hallway walls. Viv poked her head in the door, letting her gaze run across the mass of kits. "Oy. Hatchlings!"

"Miss Viv!" The cry was taken up all around the room. A tide of fur raced toward them, enveloping the hapless wren and carrying her to the floor.

"Mottles! Mottles, please!" Tiny paws clutched her as she wrestled her way upright.

One voice sounded less pleased than the others. "It's about time ya got 'ere!" Vidya was clutching a squalling kitten. The vixen was alternately scowling and smiling. "Both of ya. Now come on, lass, take yar son."

Clare reached a tentative paw out and took the baby tom. He settled to a light snuffle and began nuzzling up against her.

Viv gave the new mother another reassuring pat. "See? Nothing to worry about, he's right at home."

Clare let a half-hearted smile work its way onto her face. "I suppose..."

Burrley handed the second kitten over and stepped back. Viv shot her a meaningful glance and extricated herself from the mass. She moved to the doorway and the mole followed. "Burrley... make sure she stays here this time."

"Hurm... how wudd Oi do that'n, marm?" The little molemaid shuffled closer, speaking under her breath.

"You have your trowel, right?"

Burrley's eyes went wide. "You'm said t'never use urr loike that!"

Viv placed a wing over the mole's snout, hushing her. "Well, now I'm telling you otherwise. Look, she needs to stay here. I need you to make sure she stays."

Burrley's beady black eyes twitched toward the cats, then back. "Whurr be'm Jinck, marm?"

Viv shook her head. "Moonshot has him; he killed Solgrim, too, and has gone flying to the four winds. So, you see, I have a bigger problem in my nest than some errant mother. Keep her here no matter what. Vidya's family can stay and help, but I need to take her with me."

Burrley was frowning, but she nodded and moved back to Clare, wiggling a digging claw at one of the kittens.

"Ya're takin' me with ya?" Vidya's voice was an irate hiss. "After ya saddled me with that lot?"

Viv replied, "I didn't, that fat, daffy vole did. But we have badger-sized problems coming our way, Vidya. Badger-controlled-by-Moonshot-sized ones, to be exact."

The vixen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Right. Give me a moment t' gather myself and talk t' my family?"

Vivienne nodded and left the room, her mind racing ahead of her. _The good doctor better have finished that weapon of his... and he better use it._


	56. 53: Thy Sins, Seventy Times Seven

**Chapter 53. Thy Sins, Seventy Times Seven**

_by Benedict_

"I had such a shocking dream the other night. I dreamed that a cat and a sheep had connection and the hideous offspring appeared a few minutes after the event, it was a little black creature with long nails of wire which fastened into me, and as I pulled them out they became alive like worms, wasn't that shocking?"

- Painter Simeon Solomon, in a letter to Algernon Charles Swinburne

* * *

He took draughts, but not of sleep. Even in the fullest light of the sun he was oblivious to everything in the world about him. He moved between Cavern Hole and the Great Hall like a bee between flowers, insensate even as the rest of the hive buzzed murder, murder. Mere insects!- the world had seen acts of greater cruelty. He'd committed some.

He sniveled and sobbed over it, rocked his daughter and whispered to her. She wailed. "Clara, oh Clara, you will forgive your father if he does you any harm-"

"You!"

Russel had found him at last. The Doctor seemed harried; he bounced on his toes and tugged at the neck of his tunic. "What are you doing? Don't shake it like that. Let me see."

"No!"

"Benedict- please," the hedgehog huffed. "You've caused really enough trouble."

"I know." He handed the child to Russel. In a minute she was calm and happy as though nothing had troubled her; yet Benedict felt that whatever ill spirit consumed her had crawled down his throat and snugged in his belly with bloated, gaseous fear.

He willed the Doctor not speak, but he did. "You know what I came to you for. Please give me the book."

"I don't have it."

"Where is it?"

"I don't have it-"

"Please," said the Doctor. "This is the most important thing I could possibly, possibly ask you. Who did you give it to?"

"I didn't. I lost it."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"Benedict! Just tell me something."

"I burned it," he said. "I burned it because I took it and I felt wicked, and I couldn't come find you, I didn't want to. You must understand how I feel."

For a moment, Russel looked stricken. "You- you idiot! You toad! You took the best thing we had- you took- good 'Gates, you might as well have killed us all!"

"You are making her cry."

"Oh!" He clasped the kitten to his chest. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Give me my Clara!" Benedict reached for her. "Oh, my Clara, my love. I read your book. I wonder at how you had it, Dottore- Doctor. It is abominable for anyone to own such a thing."

"Is that what you do, then, you try to turn it around no matter what happens to you? I met your wife, you know. She looked like-" Russel blustered. "You read it?"

"I did." Benedict bowed his head; he trembled slightly. "I read it and burned it, and I am sorry for things that I've done, whatever you think."

The hedgehog cast about, reeling almost as if he'd taken a blow to the gut. He rushed at Benedict like a hawk on its prey. "Say what you've read."

"I know that the creature, that its humors- there is too much of one thing."

"Adrenaline. In the kidneys, you see, they produce- well, the glands there- it's not just that, though. It works on his heart, too…"

"Then give him wine and syrup."

"No! There was an equation. You don't remember." Russel frowned. "You have to tell me. This could change everything. You have to, you have to remember."

"Leave me alone," Benedict began, when there came a sound like the thunder of a long-brewing storm. The beasts in the Great Hall stopped their chatter. The doors strained against a thing that rent pegs and nails, bolts and bars like they were willowboughs or flowerstems or cheap furry paper; then it stopped, and the silence breathed and whistled fright through its teeth. Benedict could hear the blood rushing in his ears. The doors sighed and admitted Moonshot.

Beside him stood the badger.

"Don't move!" Moonshot screamed. He beat a tattoo on the beast's armor with the flat of a sword. "Don't move!"

"Do not move," the beast echoed. Innumerable, wild faces and forms pressed themselves on Benedict. The badger lumbered forward. With every step his limbs sagged, like his paws were uprooted tree-trunks, somehow moving, pounding soft soil under their roots. He extended an arm- corded with muscle, picked with dull hair the hue of greasy, scaled steel- and swept aside the beasts in his path.

Benedict struggled through the crowd. He held Clara close to him, praying they would not be crushed. He saw Russel crest above the crowd, waving his arms frantically. He shouted at someone. Not him- "The ballista! Upstairs! Move the ballista!"

They bottlenecked at the stairs, clotted the passage like blood in a vein. Some had turned against the tide, dragging tables and chairs. An otter cuffed him. "Help if you're able!"

"But Clara-"

"Hand her up!" A pair of paws took her from him and passed her up, away from him. He roared and tried to scrabble over heads and shoulders.

Someone yanked him by the tail, and he tumbled to the ground and under the crush of feet. They battered him at his back, his stomach, his ribs. He clawed his way upright, screaming. He saw the barricade rising before him like an insurmountable hill, a forest of thorns, the hump on a giant's back. Chair clattered on bench clattered on stone.

He stopped and almost laughed: there was a child's toy, a red wooden cart no larger than his forearm. Something tore him away. Benedict's gaze met the badger's. Sickly yellow glazed his bloodshot eyes, eyes which rolled like marbles in their sockets.

"I don't-"

He wasn't wanted. His arm seemed to crumple, and he was tossed back on the barricade like a discarded toy. Again he moved, heaved as if by his scruff, prodded up and over the barricade by a hundred paws like birds pecking at a corpse.

"Benedict!" Russel suddenly had a paw around his shoulder. "Move up, you're hurt."

He stumbled. "Is this my fault?"

"I don't understand-"

"Is this my fault," he moaned, "am I being punished?"

"No," said Russel. He was hoarse, shouting. "You did a stupid thing but you didn't do this, I mean you didn't let them in."

"I hate it, I hate it, odio, odio, odio, all that I have done."

"Shush."

"I am monstrous."

Russel thrust his paws in Benedict's face and studied his eyes. He shouted over his shoulder. "Help him upstairs."

He passed from paw to paw, he staggered like a drunk. At the top of the stairs he crumpled into the arms of a fox. He embraced the vixen like a lover, pulled at her shirt with one paw like he was sinking into the floor and the napped fabric was his anchor, his only salvation.

"Good gates," someone said. "That's got to come off."

"I don't understand what you mean," he mumbled. "Do you speak- oh, I am ill..."

"You," the fox said. "Ma needs t' talk t'you."


	57. 54: And so our scene must to the battle

**Chapter 54. And so our scene must to the battle fly! **

_by Vidya_

The vixen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Right. Give me a moment t' gather myself and talk t' my family?"

Vivienne nodded and hopped off to wait in the hallway.

Vidya loped to the corner where Mandara was herding some of the smaller Mottles into nap time. "Mandara, 'elp Clare, please. I need t'go see about th' skipper's defenses. An' tell 'er their names; she can't go around not callin' them anythin'."

"Of course, Vidya. I'll see t' it that all these kits are taken care of. Clare too."

Across the room, Vidya set up a quiet space. She sat and took out her Runes.

The vixen sighed as she laid down the worn linen cloth. She smoothed the edges and stared into the fibers that made up the small swatch. She swirled the familiar stones in the bag. They knocked together with a comforting clack, clack, clack. Thinking of all that had happened since her family had left the Red Fire Army beasts dead in the woods, Vidya lost herself in the sound and feel of her stones. They were her anchor in hard times; this time was no different. Her paw inched itself into the bag. Claws clicked softly as she nudged the stones, inviting them. Three finally worked themselves into her grasp, and she pulled them out, then cast them onto the cloth.

The stones fell more or less into a line; the last one was upside-down. Vidya arranged them into a proper line and allowed her eyes to focus again.

"Nauthiz." She whispered the names of the Runes aloud. "'agalaz. Teiwaz."

Th' past is conflict; as if that weren't obvious. 'agalaz, "wild power". Th' badger certainly fits that. An' my path: Teiwaz. That's "victory". But upside-down, so, "loss".

Scoffing, Vidya snatched up the Runes and stuffed them back into her bag. The cloth was wadded up and added on top. Vidya tied the pouch to her belt. Her face was set into a determined grimace.

"Like I'm goin' t'let that 'appen." The vixen growled. "Time t'change my path."

Vidya stood up and stalked across the room. When she got into the hallway, she grabbed Vivienne by the wing. "C'mon, Viv. Let's find that cat."

The ladies turned down the corridor and hurried towards Great Hall, only to be stopped by a sea of refugees flooding the hallway, looking for any room in which they could take shelter.

"I didn't realize so many beasts has come inside," Vivienne remarked.

Vidya growled in her throat and glowered at the closest. "Move out of th' way. We need t'get through 'ere."

"No need to get testy with them, Vidya." Vivienne raised her voice. "Has anybeast seen that scraggly cat? The one with no fur?"

A dormouse nearby pointed further down the hall. Somebeast called out, "He's in the infirmary, Miss Viv."

Vidya and Vivienne picked their way down the crowded corridor. Two more turns, and they finally saw the infirmary at the end of the hall. Benedict was slinking out the door.

"Oy, Benedict!" Vidya's voice rose above the buzz in the crowded hallway. The cat looked up and spotted them. "Don't move from there, cat!"

Benedict turned away from them. Unfortunately for him, the flow of bodies in the hall brought him closer to Vidya and Vivienne. They waded through the beasts milling about and approached him.

"Well, where is the book? There's no time for games." Vidya sneered at the cat.

Benedict looked down. He slit his eyes and shifted from side to side. "I lost it..."

Vidya and Vivienne exchanged doubtful glances.

"Look, cat," Vivienne spat the words out, "I've raised over twenty dibbuns. I am raising over twenty dibbuns. I know when I'm being lied to. Tell. The. Truth."

Vidya stood behind the wren. She glared at Benedict and snarled. He shrank back into the recess of the wall.

"No. I'm not going to tell you." He punctuated the statement with a hiss.

The vixen took out one of her knives. Holding the point towards Benedict, she took a step towards him. Vivienne held out her wing to stop Vidya. "He won't tell us if you hurt him. Now, Benedict, talk."

"Vaffanculo!" He sneered. "I burned it! Are you happy? It's gone."

"Burned it?" Vivienne let our a shrill squawk. "That was our only chance to stop that thing!"

She fluttered up to land on the cat's shoulders and gave him a sharp peck between his ears. He shrugged her off and started forward. Vidya met him and backhanded him across the face. Hissing in pain, Benedict crouched low on the floor. He grimaced and sat back to cradle his wrapped arm.

"What'd ya do t' it, anyways?" Vidya took a step back as she noticed his splinted arm.

"The great badger hit me. It's inside Great Hall. That Moonshot fellow let him in. My Clara is gone. Somebeast took her."

Vidya snapped her head to look at Vivienne. "We need t'urry!"

Benedict seemed to shrink into himself. "Doctor Song and Kapler were setting up the weapon at the top of the stairs."

"C'mon, Vidya!" Vivienne took to the air to move faster. She fluttered ahead.

"Ya're comin' with us, Benedict." Vidya snatched up his good arm and dragged the protesting cat behind her.

"But! You can't! I'm hurt! I do not want to go back near that thing!"

"Too bad, cat. I'm not lettin' ya out of my sight."

"But please. You're hurting me." Benedict mewled at the vixen.

"Just keep up!"

The three reached the top of the stair well. Doctor Song was bent over some of the ropes, making some adjustments to the ballista. Kapler stood off to one side holding some tools.

Vidya opened her mouth to call out. "Doc -"

A large ROAR cut her off. All heads snapped to look at the bottom of the stairs. Brimstone stood there looking at them with murder in his eyes.


	58. 55: Rueful Fate

**Chapter 55. Rueful Fate**

_by Russel_

Moles ran hither and thither, tweaking wheels and levers, aiming the ballista down the stairs. The weapon was meant to fire up and in an arc, but there wasn't enough room for that in the cramped hallway.

"That's enough, lads, get back, I'll handle it from this point!"

Pushing the moles aside, Russel dove into the small control seat he'd assembled at the rear, making some final adjustments to the weapon as his ears picked up Brimstone's approach, looming like a sentient storm rolling through the abbey.

Beasts claim, after a traumatic event, that time appears to slow down for them. Perhaps Russel was simply more aware of time than others, but to the hog, there was no change in the speed at which the armored badger's head emerged from the doorframe or how he rushed the stairs. When he looked back in memory, though, he could see that much happened within his brain, tiny events packed into the big, substantial one that defied the march of the second hand on his clock, the one he knew to be ticking away in his room even as he stared into Brimstone's face.

With Brimstone at the base of the stair, the hog knew what was at stake. Beasts lined his back, beasts that had lived long lives, short lives, had children who would be lost without them, would have died unmarried if they went to meet the great unknown now. The whole of Redwall abbey as a ruin into which curious beasts would peer, wondering what felled them all those years ago. Or worse, Redwall abbey as a tyrant's fort, Kotir all over again. In any case, who would make sure all of Russel's things were kept in good condition?

Yet, as a footpaw large and thick enough to be its own creature mounted the bottom stair, Russel peered into the metal mask, the steel grate pressed over the roaring forge, he noticed something. In there, those eyes, was the spark of life. Behind the contorted face he could just barely make out, somebeast was thinking, feeling.

_No beast deserves to die!_

Hesitation pulled at his wrists like marionette strings. His claws wrapped around the release handle as fear stretched it's tendrils around his breast. Russel's mind went to Vivienne and her kits, to the young otters ready to die for the abbey, to Kapler, to the new weight pressing against his chest. To David.

He pulled the leaver.

Russel heard more than saw the bold hit against the rock-sturdy armor bolted to the badger. He couldn't tell immediately if it was injured or not but it was readily apparent that Brimstone was not about to mount another offensive any time soon. The badger turned and ran from the hall as though a fire had been lit beneath his cold metal skin. Silence, replaced by the faint, far away sounds of the badger meeting creatures elsewhere in the abbey. A collective sigh went through the ranks of everybeast.

"Is anybeast injured? Anybeast at all?"

Responses to the abbot's question bunched together in the crowded hall. The question was late in coming, but then there had been no time to make absolutely sure who was injured and who wasn't in the bustle to get entrances to the second floor covered. Russel could make out the silhouettes of Noah and Twoflower going to assess the damages, along with any other infirmary staff that were present and able to stand. The doctor was preoccupied with something at the bottom of the stair. Rather, his eyes were – he couldn't tear them from that vacant spot. A cold pain in his paw called attention to his rapidly whitening knuckles, grasped around the firing lever as though his life depended on it.

"Doctor Song, are you alright?" twittered a voice he knew to be Vivienne.

He nodded, only half-convinced.

"That…must have been difficult. Thank you."

"Mm-hm," came from his throat, cracked through and dry. He suddenly wondered why he couldn't feel his legs.

"Why should they get any help? Aren't they the ones who put is in this situation?"

Sharp words cut into the numbness. Russel found he could walk just fine and needed to, very quickly. If he recognized that tone of voice, something very unsavory was about to happen.

"I'm with him, why do we gotta 'elp 'em when they tried t'kill us?"

"Fightin' amonst ourselves won't 'elp solve anythin'. We needs t'stick t'gether if'n we want t'stay alive," said Vidya. Russel could just barely make out her vivid skirts in the crowd, flowers in a sea of grey and brown.

"Wot d'you know, vermin? Who asked yew anyways?"

"I say we kick those soldiers out, make them face the monster!"

"Give 'em a taste of their own medicine!"

Russel raised claws to his lips. He needed to throw some water on this fire before it turned into a blaze. A sharp whistle cut into everybeast's ears, most notably Russels. The hog shook his head violently, spikes complaining all the way. Perhaps that hadn't been the best way to get everybeast's attention.

"Oi! We're not going to just let them loose with the monster about! They'll get killed."

"Then it'll be an eye for an' eye!"

Russel stared down the mouse who had shouted, disappointment, concern and just a pinch of anger clouding his expression. He knew that mouse. He'd seen him go about his chores from day to day, a nice lad. Russel never pegged him a killer.

"Nobeast lost an eye, far as I know, and nobeast is going to! We can't just abandon them to that…thing."

"Doctor Song is right."

Russel's ears perked. There was a surprise. He soon found Abbot Cloverleaf standing at his side.

"Let us not forget the principles upon which our abbey was founded; kindness and compassion to all, aid for the injured and sick no matter their creed or species."

"But…Abbot, they tried to kill us."

Russel rolled his eyes. "So of course the logical action is to kill back and not, gee, I don't know, devise a plan that won't just lead to more death? You lot, take away some space and food and you turn into dibbuns."

The hog felt a paw on his chest, pressing the lens closer to his breast. As much as he didn't care what the Abbot wanted right now, he knew Lua would want him to be more tactful.

"We still have our capable fighters, loyal to us. The soldiers will be watched and should anything resembling treason occur, Skippers otters will report to me and deal with the situation appropriately. If the need arises."

"Right now, though," Russel interrupted, "We're just a few score beasts on the second floor of a beleaguered abbey. There's no army, no sides, just us and the badger. We've got these creatures, these wonderful, talented creatures that we could use. I'm sure there's a few medics or doctors among them…are there any doctors? I'd love to talk to a doctor. Heard there was one, well, sort of…met the…no, no doctors? Ah, well."

"Jade over here is a healer and we have Doc," spoke one of the soldiers when he was sure he wouldn't get hanged for the action.

"Doc, eh, that'd be short for Doctor, I presume?"

"Eh, just a nickname, I'm afraid," explained another soldier, presumably the aforementioned "Doc".

"Oh."

Russel deflated like a pincushion getting the stuffing let out. "Well then. Carry on."

The doctor turned to survey his machine. There appeared to be no structural damage, which was good. His repairs had held as they should. But then, why wouldn't they, especially when they were his repairs? Judging from the misfire, however, the device still needed calibration. For that he'd need a few tools from his study. Still, he didn't want to leave this lot alone with the soldiers, otters and a surprisingly cooperative abbot or not.

"David, do me a favor and fetch my…"

The air in his lungs went stagnate. Russel wheeled around, coat and spines moving freely in the resulting wind.

"David? David! Come out, now, I need you."

Where had David been last? Helping the moles with the ballista, right? But then, why wasn't he around when Kapler needed to move the machine? He had gone off to get something, then, yes, that was it. He could remember his son saying that they needed some extra wood and that if he could only ask the cellar keeper, shouldn't take more than a moment…

It wasn't true. It was a nightmare. He could feel it, he knew he could. Stuck to his forehead were droplets of cold night-sweat; clinging to his back where sheets made sticky with perspiration.

The lens hit against his chest, hard, familiar. This was real.

A voice snared him just after he put paw to the bottom of the barricade

"Doctor Song, where do you think you're going?"

He wheeled about, words pouring unchecked from him, "Cloverleaf, my son is down there and for all I know that thing might be…I can't just…"

"You can't just go down there. Doctor Song –"

"Or what, you're going to kill me? Have me thrown out? Take my son from me, toss me to Moonshot?"

The vole approached Russel, his face unreadable, sturdy as stone and just as expressionless. When his paw touched his shoulder, he could feel how age and stress and grief and fear had taken their toll.

"Russel, I'm sorry. You'll get yourself killed if you go alone."

Logic was the spring which powered his brain. In the absence of it he could not function. Resignation sunk in his belly like a cold lead brick.

"You're right." A tick. Something else powered his gears. A reserve. A reserve of bubbling, stinging energy, over-fermented cordial, strawberry fizz aged wrong, full of dust bits and debris from the barrel.

_As long as I had you and your mother, I would be fine_.

He'd lost Lua.

Solgrim had gone before the bird had a chance to change, Bart had left before Russel had a chance to sort things out with him. Doctor Sage had left before he had a chance to chat, Brooketail died before he could see his grandchildren grow. Avery died a murderer murdered, though it was Kapler for whom he felt sorrier. All those young otters, that mole Solgrim took, those refugees too close to the walls when Moonshot tried to take the abbey, those soldiers ready to die, or perhaps not ready at all, for a mad beast on a pointless, bloodstained road.

Now, he'd lost David.

No.

No.

Not another, not another cadaver for the pile, flaking ash in a pyre. His paws clung to smooth wood, battered wood, things with traction ranging from good footstool to a broken neck waiting to happen. Whoever or whatever snatched at his ankle got a swift kick. He wasn't sure if it made contact. He was sure that it got the creature or thing to back of, as well as dislodge him from his firm hold, forcing a rough meeting between ribcage and writing desk.

Russel was almost positive he broke something. The air which billowed his coat was greater than whatever was left in his lungs. He didn't care. He rammed the insurmountable barricade with his shoulder, the previously cheery, friendly hog chipping away with each impact.

A pair of paws seized him. He shoved them away. Words assaulted his ear.

"Oi, gerraway from there!"

"Y'heard the abbot, y'can't just go out there!"

"Just get away! I want to get my son! David, David I'm coming for you!"

The doctor tried four times to climb the barricade. Four times, four falls, four sharp pains in different parts of his body. On the fifth attempt, after he could hear the walla of the abbey's other survivors behind him, reacting to his folly, the strong paws took him and he couldn't break free. Their grip like iron, he could only stare up at the otters, willing them to move, wishing that he could hit them with just a glance.

His face contorted. Russel began to pull into himself.

It was a trembling ache. Every part of his body wanted to move, sprout legs, run away someplace dark and secluded and hide. Yet, he remained whole, alone with the weight of everything. He had a broken memory, a dead wife, lived in an abbey with so many dead or injured or dying, or about to die now that they had no food or water and he was just a daft old man, old without being old, just a daft, aged beast who liked to play with gears and spokes and door hinges.

The floor was suddenly very interesting. He stared at that carpet, the only noise in his head the pounding of blood in his ears. Beasts were trying to talk to him, their voices like flies rattling against windows. He uncurled enough to see them all standing above him.

Vivienne tried to sympathize with him.

"Doctor Song, my son is out there, too. And I'm terrified. Absolutely terrified. But we'll do nothing by trying to run off to get them, only wind up getting ourselves killed."

Vidya tried to rationalize.

"Our best bet is t'stay 'ere. Yer son's a smart lad, Doc Song, I don't doubt he'll find 'is way up 'ere when 'e can."

Benedict was silent, stoic. He could see a trembling in that beast, the unspoken, "I'm sorry," when your mouth is tired of apologies.

Kapler tried to rouse him.

"Come on, Doctor Song, you need to get up! You can't just lie there, there's creatures who need your help. You'll think of a way to save David, I know you will. Doctor Song? Doctor Song, please get up!"

The hog stayed on the ground, motionless save the rise and fall of his chest. He was willfully paralyzed, a clock in urgent need of winding.


	59. 56: Life to Live

**Chapter 56. Life to Live**

_by Kapler_

_Sing me a hope song_

_And I'll sing with you_

Kapler had never seen Russel so frightened – so undone. Always he was certainty, compassion, strength to Kapler. Now, he lay still on the floor, eyes unfocused. "He's probably already dead." The tone grated, a dead voice matter-of-fact and uncaring, exhausted. All Russel's vigor had been sapped away, leaving behind a ragged, lifeless bale of spikes.

"Come on, Doctor Song…" Ginger paws slipped around spines and under armpits. With a grunt, he heaved, the doctor's bulk unwieldy and unyielding. He looked to the gawking otters, a kernel of anger cracking within. "Can you help?"

With a sudden yessir, one leaped to assist. Kapler's surprise must have shown, because the otter winked and said, in a low voice, "what you did to that ferret, we're real proud, mister Kapler."

Kapler growled and pulled Doctor Song away, staggering under the sudden weight. His glare was enough to make the otter retreat. Spikes rubbed against his coat, trying to find their way through. His satchel bumped against his waist. After several steps, the pair fell into a shuffling rhythm. Kapler's brow wrinkled as he grunted against the throbs and aches. Mutterings churned in their wake, admiration and contempt and meaningful glances he tried to ignore. "Let's get you to your study, Russel. Sit you down…it's going to be all right. David's going to be all right." Words of encouragement and support, never spoken before. They flopped from his maw, awkward and strange, but sincere. As they moved further down the hallway, they passed unnoticed through the massed creatures.

Once in the study, Kapler kicked shut the door and deposited Russel at his desk. "How about some tea? You have a pot? Where do you keep your tea?" Kapler's frantic paws swept the shelves, clattering bottles, pushing aside dusty boxes carefully stacked. In his furor, more than one knickknack disappeared into pockets. He kept glancing Russel's way, making sure he didn't sneak away. Responsibility weighed like his bag on his shoulder.

Russel slumped in his chair. "Kap—"

Kapler opened a cupboard. Dished glinted at him, empty and pristine. "No, just wait, Russel. I'll find something."

"It's all right."

"No, I'll—"

"Kap, sit down."

The words wafted through Kapler's whiskers, forceful in their lack of emotion. Kapler collapsed into a chair and rubbed his nape. "I'm sorry, Russel. I'm not very good at…I've never done this kind of thing before."

"No, it's my fault." He sighed. "I should never have lost track of David."

Kapler scringed. This aimless, rambling Russel left a bad taste, like jam spilled in a pocket. What to say? How to confort? No beast clambered for Russel's exile, none despised him. All Kapler's inadequacies stacked to nothing, his whole life no use here; he had stumbled into a hidden trove of experience beyond his own. "It's…not all bad. David's smart. He can probably take care of himself."

Russel's muzzle twisted into a snarl. "Of course he can! I've taught him…well, everything. But against Brimstone…that terrible marvelous creature." His paw waltzed the edges of the cluttered desk, along a charcoal illustration, across a book's spine. "Did you see the ballista? It hardly fazed him. If only we had that journal."

"Where is…"

"Gone." Grabbing a book off his desk, Russel hefted it in his paw and moved to the clock. He stared at it. Its interminable clicking filled the silence, counting time as a baker with measurements, each second a second gone forever. For a moment, Russel made no move. Then, he raised the tome and—

"Wait." The word wavered on the air, unsure of itself. Kapler supported it as he snatched away the book. "Russel."

A frown flitted across the hedgehog's features. After a long pause, as if coming to some great decision, he threw a white sheet over the wooden contraption. It did little to muffle the tocks and ticks.

"If…if we…" An idea was dragging itself from the shadows, a boot squelching from fresh mud, ready to step forward. It was monstrous in its absurdness. Kapler tried pushing it away, but it persisted. "There's only one Brimstone. If we lure him to us…he won't go after anybeast else." A part of Kapler, some inglorious feeling, tried to stop him. Reluctance swelled, waves of doubt and terror crashing against his resolve. The mad badger lurked somewhere in the abbey, ready to strike the moment Kapler stepped beyond the protection of the barricade. He pushed forward. "If we loaded the ballista again, I…somebeast…I could get his attention. He wouldn't go after David. We can still save him."

Warm paws grasped Kapler's own. Russel smiled – it was a sad smile, full of old and new sorrows, but glimmers of his familiar warmth trickled through. "Thank you, Kap. I think…thank you."


	60. 57: Vale Decem

**Chapter 57. Vale Decem**

_by Russel_

_"So little time...but I can feel it all over"_

A singular thought occupied the doctor's mind, a needle embedded in his brain. _I really do not enjoy this._

There were reasons he was a doctor and not a healer. Blood had more mobility than grease, mechanical parts were more easily replicable than anything that came from a creature's body, and hadn't he had this conversation with himself before?

He was shaking a bit, he knew. He knew it was because this was around the last place he wanted to be right then. There was an unexpected order to the way nurses and healers ran this way and that, yet he couldn't decipher what it was. It was like watching ants. Exactly like watching ants. He, Lua and David used to do that all the time.

Something else, though, at his core was troubling him. It lingered in the air, concealing itself in the sickly, almost rotten stench of herbs and medicine. Perhaps it was the medicine. He had never been a fan of the stuff. He knew how necessary it was, but that didn't make it any fun.

"Russ, I'm sorry, I know how you are around medicine, but I have a literal mountain of beasts to take care of with much more pressing injuries than this one," said Noah as he pressed the small vial into his paw. "Just a small dose, a few drops in the mouth. He'll swallow it on his own, trust me. It's a reflex."

A hearty pat on the back said farewell for Mister Vale just before he vanished into the network, lost among the other bustling insects.

He knew putting this medicine into the creature in front of him would dull his pain. His body did not. It smelled of poison. Russel shut his eyes as though it would shut out the smell. A picture waited behind his lids.

_A jar of medicine clasped into his paw, the smooth edges sharpened in his tight grip._

_A barely recognizable prone figure on the bed before him, immobile save an uncertain rising and falling of the chest._

_He began to unscrew the cap, stopped, replaced it, fiddled with the cap as he tried again, managed to get the cap off. He stared the beast in the face._

_He turned away._

_"Noah, I can't do this."_

Eyes pulled open at the chime of glass shattering upon the floor. A sigh grated his ears.

"Russel,"

"I'm sorry, very sorry, Ms. Twoflower, it's just…I can't do this." The phrase stung his tongue but it was made no less true by his disgust.

The healer surveyed him a moment before responding.

"You're right. You should make yourself useful, but not here, and not when you're shaking like a leaf. I think the guards need an extra hand watching the stairwell and didn't you have to re-calibrate that ballista?"

"Kapler's working on it as we speak, good lad."

"Well, last I heard, he was having some trouble. You should go talk to him, make sure he's doing all right. And Doctor Song?" Twoflower pulled closer as she added. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can get for you, anything to help your nerves?"

The hog shook his head, spikes clattering. He felt sick tickle his throat at the very notion. That image appeared in his head again, an open window above a ten story drop.

"No, Ms. Twoflower, no thank you."

* * *

Russel sighted Kapler's footpaws first. So engrossed in his work was he, so focused on attaining the optimum angle at which to work, that he was half turned over, about to fall flat upon his face were it not for the solid beam of wood on which his chest rested. Russel applauded as he approached, causing Kapler to look up from his work like a mouse peaking from a burrow.

"Ah, there he is! Just what I like to see, Kap, my assistant diving into his work, eager as a dibbun into pie."

He saw David standing next to Kapler, an image through snow-frosted glass. There they were, joking, laughing, helping one another on the ballista. Russel blinked the shard of a day dream from his eye.

"Hey, Russel, are you all right?"

" 'M fine, Kap, fine. Here, let me."

The hog retrieved a wrench, a mallet and a screwdriver from the toolbox next to the machine.

"You really aren't are you?"

Russel tightened a bolt. "It's David, Kap. I'm still really very worried about him. I know what you said before and I really think we can keep Brimstone away from him. We're probably doing that right at this moment by just hiding up here; I haven't heard anything from downstairs in awhile and I'd wager my third best tea set – David cracked one of the saucers of my second best recently, you see – that ol' Moon-Moony-Moon'll be saving Brimstone for a charge on our fortifications up here. But it's just…"

A shiver reached into him as far down as his heart. He felt Kapler's paw on his shoulder. So like it was to David's that he almost broke down right there.

"He'll be fine, Russ. And if anyone can figure out how to save him, it's you."

It stung Russel's face to smile. "Thanks, Kap. Thanks for everything."

The vole shook his head. "It's no problem, honestly. I...I owe you more than you owe me. I mean, I don't want to...things haven't exactly been easy lately. Or from the beginning. "

Russ frowned and nodded, his brow jumping up his forehead. "Well, I'm glad I could be there for you."

Russel had always got on fine with his parents, even if they didn't always understand him or his fascinations with levers, button-fasteners, locks and bolts. He was well aware, though, that not everybeast had that luxury. Kapler was a good lad, though. He deserved someone who could look out for him, at least. He felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of Lua never having met Kapler.

Sweaty, slippery palms; the vial almost dropped from them. A paw clasped his shoulder.

"Russel,"

"I can't I just…"

"But, you said…"

"Sod it, sod all of it! Forget what I…"

His eyes stung. Something that felt the size of a whole apple and twice as heavy sunk into his gut.

"No, no I was right the first time. But…"

Kapler was standing in front of him, staring at Russel with a glance that suggested his brief departure from reality hadn't gone unnoticed.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

The vole blinked. "I need to go back to your study to get a few things. Your list, your toolbox only has half the materials you needed."

"Oh. Right. Thanks, Kap. Oh, and by the by, is there any news from Benedict?"

"Trying to remember what he read in that journal." The vole shook his head. "But doesn't look like he's anywhere close."

Russel's shoulders sagged, causing a few spikes to clatter off of one another underneath his coat. "I see."

Kapler paused in mid step, a thought obviously tugging at him. Russel recognized that expression and despaired. How he hoped he'd see David make that face again, a portrait of the first few moments of inspiration.

"There's...it's just talk for right now, but you know Doc? I heard from the soldiers...he's not a healer or doctor, but he's very good at - I only half understand it - but he's good at helping beasts through problems. Problems with their minds. Maybe he can help Benedict remember."

_Maybe he could help me remember,_ thought Russel. _Or stop._

The hog nodded, spikes rattling. "That sounds like a plan. We'll discuss that once we're done here."

Gathered a few paces around Russel were the otters. There were three of them, one armed with a sling, another with a bow and another with a crossbow. Russel had been able to complete one other between when they had to retreat and now. Well, two, but he'd gotten careless and clumsy and broken the other one.

Speaking of broken…

The ballista was holding, but it appeared the damage from the drop before hadn't been entirely rectified. There were only so many things that could be replaced without having to re-make the machine. Now that he knew what the problem was, it would be a simple matter for fix it. The hog grasped a screwdriver tight in his paw as he bent over the machine.

He clasped the bottle; a sob forced its hand up his throat; he dropped the thing

He dropped the screwdriver. Russel shook his head, spikes clattering angrily at his back. Frequently, he was interrupted by thoughts of his son. He would be on the cusp of solving a problem before a memory of a face or a laugh or a struggle wrapped around him and pulled him away. He wondered where David was, if he was unharmed, if he was injured, how bad it was. If the Redfire Army had found him. If they had, had they spared him. Then, when he again arrived at where he was before, he would sight a new problem in his machine, one he should have noticed a long time ago.

Then there were the images. Like flashes of bright light after being asleep for too long, it felt like they bore into his head. Or bore out of his head. One would come to him and he'd feel it lance all along his body, often causing him to drop things or completely forget where he was. After one near-repair, he dropped his hammer onto his footpaw. Cursing rather loudly, Russel felt somebeast behind him as he bent to retrieve it.

"Is everythin' alright, Doctor?"

Vidya stood above him. From the look of things, she had arrived to relieve one of the otter guards.

Russel looked up at her with indecisive eyes. Kapler he would have told in an instant, to Vivienne he would have confessed in a longer lapse of time, but he couldn't decide if he should let Vidya in. Which, when he thought about it, was rather strange. In all the time since this began, he could scarcely believe he had barely socialized or spoken to the fox. A quick meeting out on the lawns, an invitation to do a reading, a two-line conversation in the war council and, save from overhearing her or hearing about here, there was little to no contact. Yet they were similar. He had a child, she children. What was more, they shared a similar loss.

"Yes, it's fine. Quite alright." His words came slow. "Actually, no. No, it isn't," he added.

"I'll gladly lend ya an ear for yar troubles."

"I can't concentrate." Again, the words came slow. This time, however, the thoughts before them were equally slowed. "It's David," he finally answered. He felt comfortable in at least telling her that. "I can't stop thinking about how he might get hurt or if he's already..."

The fox nodded sagely. "I know 'ow worryin' children can be. Tandava must 'ave been no more an' five when 'e went wanderin' away from our camp. I was so scared; I thought I'd lost 'im. 'e was playin' in th' stream while I was doin' th' washin'. I turned for just a moment an' when I looked back, 'e was gone. We spent all day lookin' for 'im. Finally, Ravi found 'im sleepin' up in a tree. In a tree!"

The hog and fox shared a laugh. As it died, Vidya's face adopted a soft seriousness.

"But I stand by what I said, Doctor, 'e's a smart lad. 'E managed t' take care of you on 'is own, he c'n take care of himself."

The doctor shook his head, the familiar chiming of spikes echoing in the quiet hall.

"Things've never been the same without Lua. She was beautiful. So beautiful. And she made me a lot better than I was, better than I am now." He smiled. "She helped me focus. But at the same time, it was always the next thing for her, always another goal. Yet, nothing had to mean anything. Everything just was. When I met her, she was playing in the gatehouse, putting together a bunch of books and bits and bobs and whatsits, a great chain of actions and reactions populating the entire floor. One device would trigger another would trigger another would trigger another until it just stopped. Then, she'd start over, re-set everything and add to it. I asked her, 'what's the point to all of this?' She looked at me as if I had asked her why the sky was blue and said, I'll never forget how she sounded when she did it, too, or how she looked, she said, 'What's the point of a point?' Points and ends, those were two things she never liked. She'd get to the end of a book, then start writing more onto it. Or read it backwards. Never an end. Never should be an end."

Tears coursed down his cheeks, impossibly hot, choking like they were in his lungs as well.

"Mister Vale…Noah says he doesn't know what to do, says you might not…might not…"

A sibilant sound stopped him, a claw on his lips. "It's fine. I'm fine, Russel. You have to believe that."

She coughed. It was a horrible sound, much louder than it should have been allowed to be.

"But you're gonna…"

She shook her head, paused, nodded, paused again. Shrugged.

"There's never an end, though, is there? Life has no back cover, no blank page at the end of a story. So, aren't all things like that?"

The hog shuddered. "Sorry. Got lost there a minute."

" 'Bout yar son, it's not yar fault, ya know, Doctor Song. Ya did what ya could an' nobeast can fault ya for that."

Russel had been about to respond when something that was either a very big insect or an arrow sailed past his head. In an odd coincidence, the otter whose shoulder it hit was just about to raise alarm for sighting something down bellow.

Russel turned. Orange and purple enveloped him as Vidya threw him to the ground. The next coherent thing he could see was her standing above him, twirling a sling, while the otter with the crossbow joined her. The hog could only crawl on his belly back over to the machine, taking cover behind the sold timbers. Bows and slings went silent. Russel could hear footpaws departing.

"Cowards," spat the otter. "The second a fight rears its head they make a run for it."

Vidya seemed unconvinced. "They looked like they noticed somethin', like they were goin' off t'tell their captain what they found."

The hog's eyes opened so wide that it hurt. He looked up at the ballista, damaged parts exposed and a few spars loosened or removed for repairs. He didn't know quite how he got to his feet so quickly, but once vertical he knew what he had to do.

"The ballista, they noticed it was out of commission. We must have really spooked Brimstone with the thing before, that's why he hasn't made a return visit. That's why we haven't gotten too many Redfires on this side of the stair, either; they knew this was here. But they must have seen that it wasn't in working order. That means –"

He didn't need to finish the thought. Vidya started barking commands as soon as the last words died in the air.

"Get that one t'th' infirmary, then get more of th' gaurds t'come back this way. Tell everybeast t'get ready for an attack."

"No."

All eyes were on Russel.

"I mean, yes, get him to the infirmary, but no to making a stand here. Arrows'll be no use against that thing and I doubt you all want to get in close. Besides, whoever's left will need the guards to protect them. We're not all fighters."

"Then we just run?" said the otter.

"Doctor, I've got a family waitin' for me, but we don't 'ave much else t'run to."

"I know, Vidya. But I can buy time."

He marveled at how quickly his paws moved with tools in tow, re-setting spars and tightening bolts, checking to make sure the wire for the firing mechanism was in place. As he worked, he heard the otter pad off with injured brother in tow. A clatter arose from the halls soon after as everybeast received the news.

"Ya're not goin' t'get yarself killed just t'save us!"

The hog laughed. "Believe me, Vidya, that's the last thing I want to do. I'm just going to get this ballista in working order, use it on Brimstone, then beat a retreat back to where you all are. Meanwhile, you need to go help everybeast retreat, get the next floor up or wherever you fall back to fortified."

"I'm not leavin'."

"Russel!"

The shout pulled his head by the ear. Kapler bounded up the hall.

"I heard what's going on."

"See, Vidya, Kapler's come to relieve you. You can run along now."

"No, Doctor.

"Russ, you need to go."

"I need to get this ballista repaired."

"Russ –"

"Kap, let me finish! I need to get this repaired. You either need to run or stay and help me."

He didn't press Vidya anymore. Russel didn't have the time to waste on convincing her that it was a waste for her to stick around. His eyes fell on a flaw; he brought his wrench around to fix it. His eyes shot over to a crack; his screwdriver moved to tighten the bolts around it. Kapler poked his head in where he could fit, listening intently to Russel's instructions, fulfilling them with a speed and accuracy that would make anybeast proud.

"Just that one left there and we can wheel this around."

A roar shook the entire hall. It penetrated into his stomach, rattled the air from his lungs. Russel pulled out of the machine.

"What about the last bit?"

"It'll be accurate enough, I'll just have to wait for him to get closer."

He couldn't get closer. He was afraid of her, what she had become, what he had to do, but couldn't-

"No, go away, I can't deal with you right now!"

"What?"

"It's nothing, Kapler, nothing, just…help me get that ballista pointed down."

Every vein throbbed, obeying the beat of his heart in his ears. Russel marveled at how he was able to move everything about considering how much his paws were shaking. He felt weightless, as though he were floating through a nightmare.

More terrifying than anything he could have ever dreamed, Brimstone peeked his massive head around the corner of the stairwell. No sooner did he move into view than Vidya and a few returning otter guards let loose a volley down on the hapless giant. Most of them thudded uselessly off of the beast, but they served to stagger and irritate him, making it difficult for him to peer out of his hiding spot to see what was going on, as most of the missiles were aimed at his face.

"That's it, Kap, thanks! Now move!"

Russel jumped back into the seat at the rear of the ballista. His paws were more gelatin than bone and flesh now, his breathing becoming as quick as his heart beat."We're out of ammunition!" called one of the otters.

Indeed, most of them had stopped, including Vidya. Those that continued were able to manage a few more shots before ceasing. Brimstone kept where he was, but the badger was beginning to think about retaliation, Russel could tell.

"Right, you all need to go."

"But –"

"You're no good without ammunition and you can't fight that thing up close. Pull back, get ready to run in case this doesn't work." The doctor paused to think a moment. "Well, get ready to run anyway, since I don't think Moonshot and his gang will be very happy that their weapon just snuffed it."

The hog turned to Vidya before she could object.

"You're family needs you more than I do. I've got Kapler, I'll be fine."

The fox looked as though her footpaws weren't entirely convinced as she went to leave.

"Good luck, Doctor Song!" she shouted.

"Thanks, I'll need it."

Done with hesitating, Brimstone mounted the stairs. His gait was slow, his head sweeping. The badger clearly didn't know if all of his aggressors had left or not. At a signal from Russ, Kapler adjusted a final knob, then took up position a few steps behind him just as the badger made the bottom of the stair. Russ thought of David and what Kapler had said earlier. If this creature was gone, his son was safe. So too would everybeast gathered in the halls behind him. He shut his eyes just as he saw Brimstone notice the ballista and flinch, then pulled the lever.

It caught. A loud click resonated through the stairwell.

"It's jammed."

A gray blur came into view, followed by a sharp yellow dread in his gut. Brimstone drew himself up, roared. The hog leapt from his seat.

"I've got it."

"No, Kap, you need to leave. I can handle it."

Trembling paws fiddled with knobs, not knowing if they were setting proper things awry or awry things proper. Russ felt a tug at his shoulder.

"But Doctor Song –"

The objection died with a turn on his heel. Russel saw clearly Kapler's face, his worried eyes, his knit brow. He hadn't noticed the pre-mature lines along his forehead, divots forming in his cheeks. So much youth in that face, crumbled, spoiled by this and many other worries. The doctor spoke four words he knew were more likely than not a lie.

"I'll be fine, Kap. Now go."

"I'll see you further up!" shouted the vole as he moved away.

Behind him, Russel could hear Brimstone taking his time with the stairs, stopping to move some items which had fallen down the stairwell from the barricade out of the way. His pace, though, was increasing by the moment. As the hog tweaked the last knob, he heard the creature burst into a run.

Russel flung his behind into the seat, grasped the handle with enough strength to snap it in half.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. But I can't let you hurt anymore."

His teeth ground together as his knuckles tightened a bone breaking grip around the handle. He pulled. It resisted. Wide-eyed, the doctor throttled it, threatening to rend the thing from its bolts. The stampede of metal and fur and bellows came closer. Russel dove forward, throwing a few switches, removing several knobs in the process. Horrid, rotten, fire-hot breath stung his face, claws loomed over his head, descending around his skull as he fought to regain his seat. In that moment, a weight clamped around his entire body. He was going to die. He knew it.

"Not that I can find. But even this…"

"Something else?"

He was going to die. But Not with Kapler to look out for, not with David still missing.

A swing to right himself, a swift punch disengaged the last jammed latch and the taught line suddenly went slack.

It sounded as though somebeast drove a booted footpaw through a thick sheet of metal as the bolt finally came free and hit. Russel could barely make out Brimstone's body thundering down the stair with his arms clamped tight around his ears as they were. Silence. One eye opened, scouted the area, let the other eye know it was safe, then both beheld the work of the machine. Brimstone stood stark still at the base of the landing, a bold pinning him to the wall.

Guilt plucked his heartstrings, but was soon drowned out with relief. The hog sighed a sigh that slumped his shoulders and took any and all tension from his body. Then he laughed. The doctor cackled. He'd done it, he'd actually lived. He hadn't died after all.

"There is no end."

No, not for him, not that day. Feeling lighter than air, but this time for a different reason, Russel jumped from the chair, footpaws colliding with the floor painfully as he jostled the sleep from them. Brimstone appeared finished, but he felt he could never be truly sure unless he peered just a little closer.

Something shuddered behind him. Russel turned as a grating noise hit his ears, coming from the ballista. Wire pulled taught across a loose spar. He'd missed that earlier. In that case, he'd have to –

Sharp pain across his neck, a piercing in his gut that felt like hunger but his mind told him it was more severe. It felt like he had spilt warm soup all down the front of his apron and neck. All he could think, as he tumbled to the ground, was how upset Lua and David were going to be when they had to wash the thing.

"Russel!"

Kapler's voice was muted. And so upset. Why, though, why did he need to be so…

Russel looked down, saw red tinting everything, mucking his clothes, making a mess. A severed metal wire lie at his footpaw, stained the same red as his clothes. Oh.

"Go. It's just a scratch. Go!" he managed. His voice sounded strange to him and it hurt to speak.

He could hear soldiers coming up the stair behind him. An otter made his way towards Russel, got close enough to wrap a paw around his ankle, then collapsed with an arrow appearing in his front. The otter fell away to reveal Kapler being shoved bodily away.

"Go. Go. Go," Russel spoke, then whispered, then sighed.

Down the hall, around the corner, gone.

The hog smiled, of all things to do, and lay his head back. He was so tired and the floor so comfortable, the ceiling so engrossing. He felt he really understood everything then, on that floor, in the midst of that mess. His mind opened up. It had been fear the whole time. Fear stopped him from learning the truth, fear kept him away from the memory. Now, in the absence of that fear, he could finally see it.

_"I can't do it."_

_Russel felt the vial leave his paw, Noah's paw leave his shoulder. Three weeks since she last spoke, since the sounds from her were more than groans of pain and he still couldn't do it. Everytime he saw her face, he saw each and every moment with her. She was in so much pain, not even herself anymore. And he still couldn't._

_The hog remained where he was until he heard a brief commotion behind him._

_"What did you do?"_

_The rise and fall of her chest was gone, replaced by an uneven spasm and then an unnatural stillness. She lay a doll playing at sleep._

_"Noah, what did you do!?"_

_"You said you couldn't and that this was the only –"_

_He shoved the shrew aside. Russel squeezed her still warm paw, pressed his face to her lukewarm skin._

_"No, no no no. I didn't get to say goodbye, I didn't get to do it. I was going to get to say goodbye but I couldn't do it, couldn't and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Why did it have to be like this, why and for gates sake Noah, why did you do…"_

_Suddenly unintelligible, his thoughts scrambled, he collapsed into sobs, struggling to breathe._

_Shame. The hog sighed. It had been his fault and to top it, he hadn't a chance to say farewell. Any pride he might have felt at his victory faded at that. But it was not yet over. His mind hadn't finished emptying out the last dregs of memory from the reservoir…_

_"What do you want me to do?" said Noah._

_"What's the logical thing to do?" asked Russel._

_"I'm not the one to be asking and you're sure there's nothing else?"_

_"Not that I can find, no." The hog stopped "But, even this…"_

_The shrew took a step forward "Something else?"_

_"There are two horribly solid things I learned about Lua's…Lua's condition. The first is that it's definitely and irreparably terminal. The second…the second is that I have it, too."_

_"But you're not –"_

_"Contagious? No. No, don't worry about that, Noah. David will never have this, at least if I'm right about how this disease works and I hope with all of my heart that I'm at least right about that much. Neither will anyone else in the abbey."_

_"So, what do you do?"_

_"Watch. Wait. It might be seasons before it takes me. Might be months. Or weeks."_

_"And Lua?"_

So, that was that. He let out a laugh that stung him to his core. This was how it was to be. This was how it always was to be. Badger or no, Moonshot or no, ballista or no, he was going to die. He would leave and David, Kapler, Vivienne, Cloverleaf and the whole rest of the abbey would get on without him. Or, he thought darkly, they wouldn't.

Footsteps behind him. Soldiers stormed around his head. So hard to keep his eyes open, keep them focused.

"Oh my! Bigger than you said it was, Mister Cromely. This will certainly be useful."

"The spoils do not end there, I assure you. I'm sure the hog had more to be had in his study. And from the looks of things, he won't be needing any of it anymore."

Russel went to say something but blood had put a temporary stopper in his throat.

The army crashed over him, a few of them accidentally digging boots into his stomach, dull pain giving out barely audible cries now. It was cold. Couldn't somebeast start a fire or light a candle?

Sombeast stood over him. This one was smaller than the rest, shorter, younger. It was a face he knew and yet…spikes, it was so hard to concentrate right now, he couldn't do this as tired as he was.

"Mister Russ?" said…Jink. That was who it was. Jink. Good lad, at the heart. Got mixed up in some nasty business, but good heart.

"Doc…doctor," Russel corrected.

"Doctor Song. 'm sorry. 'm really sorry."

Russel shook his head, a laborious task at this point.

"David, yer son, 'e is…" Jink stopped. He leaned in closer, bless him, so Russel could hear his voice over the blood pumping through his ears.

"E's safe, Doctor Song. I found 'im and hid 'im away. It'll be fine, I promise."

He nodded again, spikes barely clattering this time. "Good. Thank you."

Russel let out a sigh.

_He's safe. Thank goodness, he's safe._

He realized then, though, that the last he had seen of his son had been in the hall. There were all of a sudden so many things he wanted to tell David, so many words of advice. But it wasn't his place. He was leaving now. David got to keep on going. Russel was at the end. He wondered who would care for him in his absence, a thought that disturbed him to his core. No mother, no father…Tears again filled his eyes, but they were slow in coming, as though it was a great task for his body to merely produce them now. So little time, so much he could have, should have told his son. But he'd been there. He'd done what he could. The same could be said for he and Lua. He'd loved her.

_"Nobeast can fault ya for that."_

The fact stood, though, that the world would continue to function. Russel was at an end.

The lens pressed to his chest was all at once vividly real. He ran a claw around the outside of the pocket. Cracked, but still intact. It seemed to press into his chest, an iron weight and a comforting paw all at once.

Maybe not. Other beasts had to move on, live out the time that they had. And Russel had lived out all the time he could in this world, he knew. But maybe there wasn't an end. His time was over, he could hear in his mind the clock in his study, muffled, but still ticking. So many things left undone. But…

_But, that's alright. Because, in the end, there is no end. That's what you said, right Lua? There is no end. It's impossible. It never ends. Right?_

_Right?_

_Right?_

end of week six.  



	61. 58: Still Standing

beginning of week seven.

**Chapter 58. Still Standing**

_by Kapler_

_In the sky I feel, I feel disaster_

_Coming towards me_

_I won't let it get me down_

_There's so much life to live_

_I'm gonna give it one more try_

* * *

_Kap, you need to leave._

Feet on stone, slamming, sliding. A frantic sprint.

_I can handle it._

_Wrong. Not right. Wrong._

_I'll be fine._

_Not fine. Broken. Cracked._ Kapler rubbed at his eyes, trying to wring away the wet and blur and horror. The stench of pain peeled at his heels, burned his senses. Russel.

_Go, go, go!_

He lowered his head and ran.

Buzzing conversation loused the crowded hallway. Kapler skidded against a wall and collapsed, lungs squeezing like a vice.

"Hello, you all right? How's Doctor Song holding up?" Kapler didn't know who spoke first, but an instant later, everybeast was crowding around him, eager and frightened.

"What happened?"

"Is that monster dead?"

"Are we safe?"

Last time this many gathered, it was to accuse him. Suffocating insinuations. Kapler huddled smaller and smaller, awash amidst the ocean of unfamiliar faces.

"Stand back, all of ya!" Vidya's forceful voice did as much as her paws to push back the crowd, and for once, Kapler was glad to see her. Crouching, whiskers calm and unruffled, she locked eyes with Kapler. "What 'appened t'Doctor Song?"

A prickling heaviness prowled from tail to muzzle to toe. His tongue grew thick. "I…he…" In Kapler's vision rose unbidden the redness seeping across Russel's apron front. His good paw clenched and unclenched, itching to scratch away the apparition. It grooved the floor instead.

"What 'appened t'Doct—"

"He's dead!" All his rage, all his shame, at himself, at the Abbey, at Moonshot, building over the past days, surged through those words. A whip-strong cord of ardor that left behind – fracture. Defeat.

His words echoed through the crowd, a bellows fanning the flames of panic. Somebeast screamed. A frenzied energy swept the hall, mutterings of defeat and slavery and worse. Before the situation could inflame further, a single clear voice rang over the din:

"Calm down, everybeast." Abbott Cloverleaf's appearance at the top of a staircase had a calming effect. His mussed fur and hunched figure descending the stairs emanated fatigue, but he spoke with a confidence Kapler envied. "Hysteria will get us nowhere. We have the food I have been saving for such a case as this." He stopped and surveyed everybeast. His assuring smile was one well-practiced. "We can survive, if—"

A mob of vermin charged around the corner, drawn swords spreading their woes. An otter crumpled, chest stained red.

Vidya was the first to react. "Get th' children out of 'ere!" Her daggers winked through the air, toppling several soldiers, encouraging others to fight as small feet pattered up the stairwell to safety.

Chaos reigned on the second floor of Redwall Abbey. A wet warm weight stumbled against Kapler. Shudders wavering through his spine. Dead. Gone. No more. He pushed away the slumped figure. Grabbed a sword from the ground. Somebeast was going to die. He looked around, hackles raised, but already the battle was nearly over. The woodlanders fought with a desperation unique to cornered creatures. The tide of Red Fire soldiers stemmed as they retreated around the corner, out of range of slings and arrows, but not earshot.

"Give up, woodlanders! You've nowhere to go!" The purr in Cromley's voice chilled Kapler.

"Ya go boil yar 'ead, cat!"

"You want your abbot back?" Murmurs arose as people looked around to the realization that their leader was missing. "Surrender. Surrender and we promise not to harm him."

"Don't believe it." Vidya, all business. "Give up, 'e'll kill us all."

Sling dangling from paw, gash down one shoulder, Buttonbush confronted Vidya. His stance was hard, a changed Skipper. "And just what d'you expect us to do, miss Vidya? Give 'im up as lost? You may not care 'bout him, but Abbot Cloverleaf practically raised me. Practically raised all o' us!" Several murmured agreement. "You can't just expect us to let 'im go!" The otter's voice carried well.

"Yes. Surrender, and you'll be together with your Abbot. You wouldn't abandon him, would you?"

Buttonbush lowered his voice. "Get everybeast to the next floor. Keep 'em safe. Barricade the doors."

Vidya nodded before turning away. "Good luck, Buttonbush."

A rustle carried through the massed creatures, speaking of retreat. One by one, paws silent, they began to filter away, carrying themselves and the injured up the stairs, deeper into the Abbey.

As the hallway emptied, Kapler stayed. He wanted to do something, to help somehow. A paw settled on his shoulder. Buttonbush's sympathetic gaze met his. "You should go, mister Kapler."

He clutched his sword, a measure of his determination. "I want to help!"

"We can't be watchin' out for you."

"You don't need to! I…I just—"

"Please, Kapler." Buttonbush snagged the blade. "Doctor Song would want you safe."

No! No, Russel would want him to protect the others, keep everybeast safe. That's what Russel would do.

"He's right, Kap."

"Miss Vivienne—"

"Don't argue. This once, don't argue." Vivienne brushed a wing against Buttonbush before turning away, Kapler in tow. Behind, those remaining continued as if nothing had changed.

"What are your terms, cat?"

"Unconditional surrender."

"Fat chance!"

As Kapler padded up the stairs behind Vivienne, he looked back. Buttonbush and the others stood below, patient fisherbeasts waiting for a bite. Ready to die. Ready to defend their friends and family. He swallowed and plodded onwards, wending around half-finished barricades. It wasn't until he mounted the third floor that he realized who slunk just ahead, tail switching against the cold floor.

Benedict. Hatred narrowed Kapler's gaze. If the cat hadn't burned the journal, they might have figured out another way to stop Brimstone. Russel might still have been alive. His fault. All Kapler's loneliness and despair and impotence found a target and roared into action. It happened without a thought: a burst of speed, a snarl of anger, and then he found himself crushing Benedict against the wall, claws around his neck.

"Caspita!" Benedict quailed, pale eyes wide.

"Your fault!" His lips curled back, every word a growl.

Vivienne flapped her wings. "Kap!"

Benedict's composure hid, refusing to come out. His arms flailed. "R-release me..."

Kapler's grip tightened. "I won't!"

"Hsst! Do you hear that?" Vivienne stood with cocked head and raised wing. Her voice carried an urgency that made Kapler and Benedict fall silent. Back the way they'd come, down the stairs, wafted yells and clanging metal.

"Bonta. It's begun." Tearing away from Kapler's grip, the mottled cat hurtled away down the hall. After a moment's hesitation, Vivienne and Kapler chased after.

Ahead, a figure appeared – Vidya, beckoning from a doorway. "In 'ere." Not a command, but simple fact. The weary group slogged into the room and shut the door. "'Elp me block it."

Wood ground against wood as they jammed a desk, chairs, anything they could find against the door.

"Should 'old."

Kapler nodded, wandered around the room, and found himself staring out the window. Even three stories up, the ground seemed distant and far away. The piled snow looked soft, thick like whipped butter. Deceiving; he knew it hid unforgiving earth. It would be a spectacular drop. Breathtaking. A beast might even die.

He exhaled, shivered and turned away. No, wouldn't die…hadn't died. He had meant to apologize, let Russel know, tell him it hadn't been an accident. Just…not the right time. Now never the right time. With heavy gait, he slumped against the blocked door. The toe of a boot protruded against Kapler's ribs, bulky, irksome, unwanted, a reminder of his failure. He wanted to lift off this onus, throw it away with all its burdens and memories and expectations. His paw grasped at the satchel, but instead of lifting it off, Kapler found himself fingering one shoe in particular. Pulling it into view, he sighed. Russel's.

I'm sorry. A bud of determination. He squeezed the shoe and grit his teeth. I'll do better. He leaned his head back, stared at the ceiling – but only for a moment.

Something was wrong. Outside, in the hallway, thuds began, faint at first, but growing louder. His stomach churned. He stared at the rest of the group. "They're coming."


	62. 59: Starveling Cat

**Chapter 59. Starveling Cat! Starveling Cat! Sharp as ravenglass! Blunt as a bat!**

_by Vivienne_

Viv couldn't stop pacing before the room's only window. The others were well and truly trapped; she was a short hop from safety. Every feather pulled at her, every breeze drew her closer.

Vidya looked just as harried, her eyes flicking between the hallway door and the light shining in from outside. It was faint as the hope for escape and washed her usually garish skirts to pastels. Her paws fidgeted about on her lap; her claws flicked across the blade of her knife, creating a staccato click.

Kapler and Benedict were competing for the most wretched sight in the room. The vole was collapsed against the barricade of furniture that barred the door. His body seemed to contract after losing Russel, so the already hunched-back, paws-in, head-bowed posture curled further.

The cat was clutching his arm to his chest, glassy-eyed and staring at the door. He was perched on the edge of a workbench, muttering to himself and wincing in time with the low thuds that echoed throughout the floor: the army working their way along the hallway, beating down doors and snatching the contents.

"Sounds like they're about halfway here," Kapler said.

"Ya should get out while ya can, Miss Viv." Vidya stood and nodded to the window, a small square high up the wall. "I'm sure ya could find a way t'get a few out with ya."

"Don't tempt me," Viv's reply was short.

"What?" Kapler's tone yanked her down.

"Nothin'. Look, I'm not going anywhere until we have a plan."

It was a long moment before Benedict spoke up. His voice was a soft mew, as if he were no greater than his newborn Clara, "We die, uccellina."

"No, no." Kapler stood and began moving about the room manically. He rearranged a chair on the barricade; he brushed a bit of dust off of the workbench; he peered out the window at the ground below. "There has to be something..."

His urgency was punctuated by another sharp bang. It was closer this time, and the shouts were deafening, as if the occupants were putting up a fight.

"Unless you can sprout wings and join me in flying down..."

"We could jump. In pairs, to soften the fall." Benedict glared at Vidya. "You before me, wench."

"I could always push ya out," Vidya replied.

"Oaw!" The cat squeezed shut his eyes, tail curling about like a protective shield - a scrawny, bald, scabrous shield. "Beset from all sides!"

Kapler paused in his manic pacing, his eyes resting on the door. The sounds from the other side had gone conspicuously silent. "Do you think they've left?"

"We should send th' cat out t'see. They'll not attack one of their own spies." Vidya suggested.

"No!" Kapler snapped, whirling on the vermin. "Stop it! Do you see where you are?"

"Mia inferna?" Benedict replied.

"Redwall?" Vidya ventured.

"In a tiny closet!" The normally meek voice filled the workshop remarkably well. "We've half the army outside our door and the abbey captured! And Russ, he -" the vole's voice broke at that, but he continued, "- we can't. I won't stop now."

"Pretty words," Benedict spat. "Good enough to get you impaled, as when you yowl over this chaise at them breaking the door down."

"I think I might just impale you, myself," Kapler muttered.

"All right." Viv hopped to the windowsill, snapping at the group. "If this is all you're good for, I'll just leave."

"But you said-" Kapler began.

"I know what I said. Argh!" The bird clacked her beak in irritation. "I shouldn't even be here! I should be out at the nest. A feathered - or Jinck keeping me warm, maybe a few of the Mottles there, too. Instead I'm stuck -"

"- treated like a pariah -"

"- my whole family 'ere -"

"- and then I lost -"

"- poor Jinck shouldn't -"

The warring complaints coalesced into a cloud of ill-will until a single thunderclap silenced them all.

Benedict stood tall, holding an awl that was now jammed into the workbench. "My tonic! Never offering a brandy and snuff is one thing, but I need my tonic."

Viv glanced at her companions' reactions. Vidya's lips were curled in a sneer. Kapler's jaw clenched.

_And me?_ Viv kept her expression guarded and looked the cat over. He was standing tall in spite of his condition, and a haughty sniff was just moments from his upturned nose. Although, his skin has been getting worse. Those fancy trappings haven't done much to stop winter's chapping - or soften the rough treatment he's got. And that arm looks mighty swollen. Blotches of ugly bruise shone through red splotches and patchy, dark fur. Poor thing's not used to anything rougher than a debate.

Benedict saw her glances and gave a low hiss. "What, urchin-snatcher? Do you teach your little cretins to stare as well?"

"You're right," Viv said.

"Of course I am," Benedict replied, without an explanation. "It took you so long?"

"I meant we should get you to the infirmary. Just look at that arm." Viv moved over and reached out, but Benedict shied away with a glum glare.

"He deserves it. You don't hear me whining about my paw," Kapler snapped.

"Uccellina, please tell him..." Benedict looked to Viv for supplication, his voice now high and his expression now pitiable. His injured paw was limp before him.

"Besides, th' infirmary's on th' second floor," Vidya observed, "Ya might make it down, but not us."

Viv moved to the window. "Maybe there's a way down? A ledge or..."

"There's nothin', Miss Viv, I checked." Vidya joined the bird. "We're trapped up 'ere like fish in a net."

"If only Russ were here!" Viv scuffed her claw against the floor. "We could've bullied an idea out of him."

"That's it!" Kapler shouted. "Russel! Oh, Russ, you..." The vole looked skyward with a half-manic, half-grieved expression. "Thank you - Russel -"

"He has gone, finally. The lad is cracked in his mind," Benedict said.

"No, don't you see?" Kapler rushed to the window, threw it open, and leaned out. The frigid outdoor air brushed by him in brisk greeting, flooding the room. "There's a floor below this! We can..."

"What are ya on about?" Vidya asked.

"When we first mounted that weapon, Russ was dangled - we dangled him - over the edge of the wall and we could all go down..." The vole trailed off, as if the memory sapped the previous energy from him. "But I couldn't help him, then, and he fell..."

"And I could hold no one." Benedict interjected.

"Ya won't 'ave t'!" Kapler spark had jumped to Vidya. "One time, we had t' lower one o' th' wagons down a steep 'ill out east. We anchored a rope from th' top and lowered it down."

Viv shook her head. "No, I..."

_Whump!_

"They've started again," Kapler said.

"We can't be lowered down one at a time. I'll fly a rope down, tie it off, and then you all can climb down."

"How will you tie it off? I mean..." Kapler asked.

Vivienne flipped the end of her scarf at him. "No problem!"

_Whump!_

"Uccellina! Now!" Benedict threw a rope from the workbench at her. "No time!"

Viv dodged the coils and grabbed the end. "Right, then..."

She took off, bending the air with her feathertips, entering a steep bank. She alighted above the window of the room above. Two shapes moved through the warped half-light behind the pane. Their voices were muffled, so Viv pressed an ear to the glass.

"Oi, come on then."

"Wait, I think I found a loose floorboard."

"Look, it's just some brat's stash of marbles."

"Pretty tho'. Chief might like 'em."

"All right, let's go. They found a stash o' grub in that fat abbot's room, and Cromley's having it passed out.

A third voice cut in from up above: "Ya got it ready, yet?"

"Hsst!" Viv called back up, "There's vermin in."

"You hear somethin'?" One voice from inside grew louder and the ominous tromp of armored paws drew near. Viv pulled back from sight.

"Prolly just th' marbles in yer head."

The pawsteps retreated. Viv chanced another glance then flitted to the sill and opened the window with a claw. It took only a moment's work, few dips and turns of the beak, and the rope was secured. She looked about the room one last time; the dormitory no longer looked like a home; it was torn and gutted. The whole abbey was.

"Come on, Miss Viv!" Kapler's call sounded urgent.

Viv returned to the room above. "Done. Who first?"

"I shall!" Benedict practically clawed his way past the others. "But... who shall help me when I reach the bottom. I could not grab the window..."

"For fates' sake." Vidya hopped up to the window. "Ya can throw 'im down t'me, for all I care." The vixen swung herself over and out of sight.

Viv followed, keeping a good wingspan away. In quiet tones, she said, "You know, we'll need a plan when we get down there."

The fox's reply was strained: "Ya can't wait?" Viv then noticed the grimace on Vidya's face. Her arms were stiff, the muscles corded at the effort of climbing down, and the wind was doing its part to hinder. It tugged Vidya's voluminous clothes and nudged her against the wall.

After a minute of wriggling, the fox gave a grunt and swung her legs. She stopped, when the rope gave a perilous crack of sudden slack. "Can ya 'old it?"

With a pair of talons steadying the rope, Vidya leap-flopped into the room, collapsing into a colorful mass of skirts and curses.

Viv released the rope as soon as she saw Vidya get up. She was back upstairs in a moment, where Benedict was proving a tougher case. "But my arm! How shall I climb! If I were of full health, why... un gatto! But now?"

Kapler shot a pleading glance to Vivienne.

"Right. Here's what we'll do, then. Kapler? Find me a belt. Or another rope. Or something -" Viv gestured at the workbench. He returned with another short length of rope. "- Good. Now, we tie it about Benedict. You know those knots that can only get tighter? One of them from one rope to the other."

"I don't... I saw Russel tie a special knot when he was working on the weapon."

"Good enough for me. All right, cat. Climb out. If you fall or feel faint or come down with the vapors, if you let go, you'll be fine," Viv replied. Kapler tied Benedict off and stepped back.

"No need to be snide..." Benedict's voice was a low mutter as he worked himself over the edge.

A steady stream of moaning caroled the bird and vole as they waited.

When the moaning turned to tail-stomped-screams, Viv launched herself out after the cat.

Benedict was clinging to the second-story windowsill with one paw. He made no attempt to climb up, but threw his head back and wailed a string of screechy gibberish.

"Curse ya', fool cat! Ya'll let th' 'ole army know we're 'ere!"

"Oh, sweet Clara, Clare, Mamma - I'll see you all soon, when it ends!"

"Viv?!" Vidya sounded desperate.

"I can't -" Viv dipped down and dug her talons into the paw of Benedict's bad arm. The cat howled louder, but Viv forced it upwards. Vidya caught it and pulled, tearing fabric.

Benedict finally crawled inside, a huddled, sobbing mass. "My arm. Ma camica! Oh, you horrible gypsy wench."

"Shaddup!" Vidya clenched the cat's maw shut with a paw. "Get Kapler down 'ere, so we can -"

"Here. Is he all -" The vole popped in the window, a liberated hammer attached to his wrist by a short rope. He made a face at the scene before him. "He's fine."

Viv nodded, then glanced up at the now-closed door, undoubtedly the vixen's doing. "So. Now that we're here."

"Back out ya go, Mama Bird. See if ya can scout out th' floor for us. I'm not leavin' that door unless I know what's on th'other side of it." Vidya said.

"Yes. Right." Viv took off around the side of the building, peering in each window and seeing the same sights: overturned rooms, broken-in doors, belongings scattered about like down in a messy nest. Movement halfway down the row of windows caught the bird's eye, however, and she landed next to the window, clinging to the rough stone. The cackle from inside was familiar enough: Moonshot. The Abbot's study! Moonshot and Cromley and Cloverleaf... only a few guards.

As Viv leapt back towards her companions, a thought gnawed at the back of her mind, clamoring for attention. _Why should we go there, first? The infirmary is more important, for sure. Maybe there's something we could use on the army - a poison or something. Maybe by the time we got back, Cloverleaf would have opened that fat, terrible maw for the last time._

It was too much. Too much and too far. The bird closed her eyes and beat at the wind, banking into the chamber that held the others. "It's clear, for the most part."

"For th' most part won't cut 't, Miss. All of it."

"Fine." Vivienne sighed - all eyes were on her.

_No! Don't! After all he's put you through with Jinck and who you are, don't help that patronizing, patriarchal -_

"Moonshot has Cloverleaf in his study. Cromley and a few guards are with him. That's all, other than a few couriers moving about the floor. The rest must be upstairs or downstairs."

"We have to save him!"

"We need a plan!"

"What about me!"

The three responses to her announcement muddled together. "Wait a moment, everyone..."

"But he's the Abbot! I know you two don't get along, but he's not just any -"

"I know, Kap," Viv replied.

"And his study is on the way to the infirmary -"

"I know."

"And if there are only a few -"

"I know!" The wren raised her wing, as if to buffet Kapler. "I know what we have to do and I know I have to save him and not my son and I know we're probably going to die up here and I don't -!"

Vivienne flapped off to the window. The cool air blew over her, soothing her anger, quieting those selfish urges. A quiet swish-swish told her that the vixen was the beast approaching. "Come on, Mama. We've got work to do."

"I'm tired of work. I just want out. I want rest and my loved ones and beak next to mine and no fat, old vole telling me what's proper and not."

Kapler had moved next to her, as well. "Then let's finish this. If we get Moonshot..."

Viv nodded and placed a wing on the young vole's head. "I'm sorry for all this, Kapler. You deserve better from a sometime boss. And you..." She glanced at the vixen. "If -"

"Shall we go, then? Or shall I commission a painting?" Benedict commented.

"Fine. Down the hallway to save an abbot," Viv said. "Mind leading us, Vidya?"

"Only if ya go an' untie that rope upstairs, first."

As Viv made for the window, she could hear the other three behind her.

"As if you could lead more than a bawdy song."

"Shut yar mouth, cat."

"I don't know, Vidya. I'd like a reason to shut it for him."

An odd flock, indeed... but she always liked the fringes.

(Credit for the title: Echo Bazaar ( .com).)


	63. 60: Welcome, destruction, death

**Chapter 60. Welcome, destruction, death, and massacre!**

_by Vidya_

Vidya stepped into the hallway. It was quiet on this end, but she could make out the sounds of the army at the other end of the abbey. She motioned to the others to follow her.

The vixen walked down the empty corridor with her knife leading the way. Kapler had a hammer in his paws, and Benedict was haphazardly swinging his awl; Vivienne fluttered along above them. Nobeast seemed to be near and they abandoned all pretence of subtlety as they continued towards the abbot's study.

Stopping down the hall from the door, Vidya halted her companions. "Shush, now. There's three guards outside th' door. Vivienne, can ya knock out th' rat?"

"Of course, Vidya. We could use a distraction, though."

"Benedict, go talk t'them. Ask about Clare. We'll get them as soon as they start talkin'."

"But -"

"Just go!" Vidya pushed him down the hall towards the door.

The three beasts waited while Benedict engaged the guards. He was waving his paw about.

"Now!" Vidya shouted. With a rush of paws and wings, the group was upon the guards.

Vidya stabbed one of the guards in the ribs. He clutched his stomach and fell to his knees. The vixen hit his head with the hilt of her knife. He crumpled into a heap on the floor. Vivienne had flown at the rat. She beat his shoulders and head with her wings, beak, and claws. He turned to face her, and she pecked the top of his head. He fell, a bloody mess next to his fellow guard. While the vixen and the wren were busy, Kapler and Benedict had attacked the last guard. Both beasts were swinging their weapons without much regard as to where they hit. The vermin slumped down next to his friends.

Turning to the door, Vidya prepared herself for what she might find inside. "Let's go in." She lifted the latch and swung the door open wide.

The four beasts that burst into the abbot's study were greeted by a low growling. Cromley leapt at Kapler, claws ready to slash the vole as he entered the room. Shrinking back, Kapler let out a gasp as he raised his arms to shield himself.

Just as Cromley was about to jump onto Kapler, Vidya stepped in brandishing one of her knives. She knicked his side with the point. The cat turned to her and snarled. Growling, Vidya faced him and readied herself for his next attack. Cromley lunged at her and sank his claws into her arm. The vixen barked in pain and backed off.

Benedict circled around the back of Cromley. "Let me take care of this whelp," he said, stabbing the air wildly with his awl. "We've got a score to settle."

Cromley whipped his head around to glare at the other cat. Seeing her chance, Vidya moved to the side and prepared to help Benedict. With his arm smashed like it was, there was no possible way he could fight off Cromley by himself.

"Vivienne, Kapler, get ready t'close an' lock th' door!" Vidya glanced at her companions. "We'll get 'im out into th' 'allway."

Vivienne nodded, and Vidya looked back to see the cats hissing at one another. Benedict started forward, swinging and stabbing at Cromley. He must have hit him a couple of times because Cromley yelped and jumped back farther towards the door. Vidya joined in with her knife, though she was much more controlled than Benedict. The two beasts backed him out into the hallway. As the door slammed shut, Cromley crouched low. Kapler slid the bolt into place; at the same time, the cat's body thudded into the door, making it shudder on its hinges.

As one, the rescuers turned to the back of the room where Abbot Cloverleaf and Moonshot stood staring at the scene that had just taken place. Moonshot was holding a dagger at his side, his eyes wide.

"Give it up, weasel. There's four of us an' just ya left." Vidya took a step closer to the pair across the room.

"And you think you can stop me? There may be four of you in this room, but even if you get your precious abbot out of here safely, my army is outside that door waiting for you." Moonshot cocked his head to one side, as if he was listening to a voice that no one else could hear. "What's that, my pretty? Yes, I did see all those colorful windows. No, no, hush. They could never outshine you." He paused. "Of course, yes. I'll find you and your friends a room without them."

With a quickness that belied his age, the abbot lunged for the quill knife on his desk. Cloverleaf stepped next to the weasel and stabbed it into his neck, right where it met the shoulder.

Moonshot staggered back, a look of surprise plastered on his face.

"You stabbed me?" The weasel chuckled as he reached up to pluck the quill knife from his neck. "And what did you plan on doing next, little abbot? You didn't think this toy would kill me, did you?"

He tossed the tool aside and advanced on the abbot. Before Vidya or the other beasts could move, Moonshot jumped onto the abbot. Teeth and claws sank deep into the vole's flesh, tearing and ripping long gashes into him.

Vidya, Vivienne, and Kapler joined the fray, desperately pulling Moonshot off of the abbot. When they succeeded, Cloverleaf lay bleeding on the floor. Kapler held his paw.

The weasel ran towards the door, laughing maniacally. Vidya threw one of her knives at him, but it skimmed past him and lodged itself into a bookcase. She bent to get another one out.

Shoving Benedict's bad arm, Moonshot reached the door and started to throw the bolt. His progress was slowed by Vivienne, who had flown across the room and onto his back and was pecking at his paws and head. He finally got the door open and stabbed with his dagger at the wren. She flew out of the way and he made his escape. Cromley was still outside and began to rush into the room. When he saw the state of his commander, he ushered Moonshot away.

The abbot lay on the floor, making a rasping, burbling sound in his throat. His wounds were leaking blood onto his habit, quickly staining the front of it. Kapler looked at Vidya and Vivienne. They joined him at the abbot's side. Benedict was a crumpled mass on the floor, yowling about his arm.

"You... can't... help... me," the abbot gasped out. "Go... help... the... others..."

His eyes rolled back as his head fell to the floor. He gave one last shuddering breath, and his body went slack.

Kapler allowed the abbot's paw to fall to the floor, and he bowed his head over the mangled body. "No. He shouldn't have died. What went wrong?"

"Nothin' went wrong, Kapler." Vidya put her paw on his shoulder. "We just didn't know 'e would attack like that."

Vivienne nudged the vole with her wingtip. "C'mon, Kapler. We shoud help everyone else. Think about the Mottles. And David."

Kapler stood up and followed the ladies towards the door. Vidya stopped and stood over Benedict. "Get up, ya yellow-bellied cat. 'e didn't 'urt ya that bad." She hauled him up onto his footpaws. She grabbed her knife from the bookcase.

The foursome exited the room into the hallway, and headed towards Doctor Song's study and the infirmary. Down the corridor, they could hear the sounds of the Red Fire Army escorting their prisoners down into the Great Hall. Others were pounding on a door.

"They must be tryin' t'get into th' infirmary. We've got t'urry!" Vidya ran down the hallway with the others following in her wake.


	64. 61: The Heart Desires, the Hand Refrains

**Chapter 61. The Heart Desires, the Hand Refrains**

_by Benedict_

"You want Death?" he hissed. "I am Death. I will break your neck and cover you with my jar of dirt. When you kill, you become Death, and so Death wears a thousand faces, a thousand robes, a thousand gazes." He loosened his grip. "But you can be Death, too. You can wear that face and that gaze. Would you like to be Death? Would you like to live in this house and learn his trade?"

- _In the Night Garden_, Catherynne M. Valente

* * *

"Don't," said Clare, when the trio of soldiers knocked in the door. "I'm with Cromley. Please don't hurt us."

"What're you doin' with this lot?" the ferret soldier asked.

She held her sons to her chest. She felt like she was scrabbling at the walls, at the floors, hoping to find a trapdoor, like she was rattling a doorknob 'til the lock's tumbler broke. "I just- I don't want them to be hurt. They're only kits."

Burrley tumbled forward and swung her trowel at him. He nudged her back with the butt of his spear. "Don't, runt.

"We'll stay here. Under the special protection of Lord Cromley's friends, you." The ferret motioned his companions to the door. He grinned. "Don't go anywhere. 'S a long leap out the winder, huh."

Clare laughed wanly. If she had a mirror she thought she might see all her baby-roundness gone. Benedict would have beat and kicked it out of her. She would have left him, or died young. Cromley would bleed it out of her over the years. It would leach bitter and cold, like poison dripping from a needle; she would get spare and wicked and brittle as flint. The thought of sleeping next to him made her quiver.

(Benedict had hurt her. But he'd never been unctuous- he brought her sweets and spiced wine, and kissed her ears so they twitched and fluttered.)

"Marm," Burrley said, "we's be 'ungry."

"What do you want me to do?" she shrieked. "I can't help you!"

"I was only arsking."

She turned on Burrley, and went to the window. Eventually they'd kill the children of Redwall, and what might happen to her own sons and the vermin she didn't know. Probably they'd live tossed and tumbled like scraps of paper in a breeze, under and around the feet of the soldiers unless they took up the title themselves. She could plead with Cromley to let hers live, or foster them with someone suitable.

She rattled the window, tapped the pane with her claws. It was a long way down. Benedict told stories about crossed lovers; one stabbed herself. Another drowned. She wondered if she could. She was a twig that broke in a gale- it was easier than bending.

A sound like shearing metal jolted her. The ferret at the door leapt to attention, and cursed. There were screams, and a clatter like a hundred-thousand hobnail boots on stone.

"Don't do anything," the ferret said to her. "Don't- Hellgates!"

He slammed the door. The sound came nearer, tolling like a bell swathed in velvet. Something slammed against the door with a wet thump; someone wailed.

"Moon," said a voice she didn't recognize. "Shot."

"I don't know, please, I don't-" This cut off.

The door creaked, and bowed in. Clare trembled.

"Where is Moonshot," the badger said. It pawed at the ground, tried to scrape the blood from its metal hide. Sparks jumped from the stone.

"They went- up," she croaked. "They're driving through the Abbey. Going up. Taking it all. He'll be there. I'm sure."

It regarded her and the children, nodded curtly, and bore down the hall.

"I'm sure," she whispered. "Oh, heaven." She fell to her knees. Burrley nudged her with a digging claw.

"You'm roight useless, marm. Viv woulda beated him senseless, boi 'ecky she would. Even if 'e ate all usn's."

"You horrible little brat," she said. "You were almost killed!"

"Nuh-uh," said the mole.

"'Gates!" Clare dug into the child's shoulder with her claws. "We need to leave. We need to get out."

Burrley wailed. She dashed to the door; the shrieking Mottles bounced after her. Sounds from the above floor echoed in the staircase like a riot of ghosts, like a storm. It hurt to listen but it was not there, they could escape. She and the children picked their way over bodies, over puddling blood. It wet her already-muddy hem. The living would sometimes bolt past them, deserters and Abbeybeasts alike. They were reckless; the children fell before them like tumbled jacks. One shoved Clare into the wall.

He heaved, and panted. His mass shook like jellied meat.

"You!"

"Mad-" Cromley wheezed, "Madam. You wretch." He seized her wrist.

"Let go-"

"Tell me. I am still living?" His other paw went to her waist. He clasped her to him, like they would waltz, crush the slain with their dancing paws. Suddenly his claws were at her thigh, seeking, groping. She squealed with fright, and her sons wailed, crushed between her arm and her chest. Burrley drove her trowel into Cromley's backside. A rageful scream tore from his throat. Clare kicked, and scratched with her free paw, 'til he cowered at the opposite wall.

"I never would have kept you," he said. "Slut- I'd tumble you and leave you in a ditch."

And he ran.

"Oh, Burrley…" Clare bent to kiss the molemaid's ear. Burrley tapped her with the bloodied trowel. "Let's go while we can."

* * *

They swung and battered and scraped their way into the infirmary, desperate for shelter. The beast was free; they could hear howls and the din of clanging metal. Benedict's awl made a sucking sound as he pulled it from a dead rat's throat. He chuckled, then drove it into the corpse's stomach.

"Cat and mouse," he whispered.

"Ya're sick." Vidya grabbed his hurt arm to examine it. He screamed and writhed. "It'll 'ave t'be cut off. I'll do it."

"No!" he yowled. "You're mocking me."

"I'll mock you plenty, but not now."

"You won't touch me."

"Then what are we here for?" Kapler cried. "This was for nothing? We just run?"

"I have told you already," Benedict said, "we will die."

Vidya swatted him. Benedict brandished the awl and swung at her. She countered with a swipe of her knife; it sliced his cheek from the base of his ear to the corner of his mouth. He staggered backwards and into a nightstand. A porcelain basin sloshed forward and fell. He cried and fell to his knees. He didn't know whether to collect the pieces, or nurse his arm, or claw at his face; instead he ground the shards under his paw-pad, weeping.

"What a -!" Vivienne said. "Stop throwing a tantrum."

"'e's a child," Vidya snapped. "'e's worse than a child."

Benedict rose. He shoved her away, slinking towards the window and the medicine cabinet. "I will care for myself. You might allow me a peaceful death."

He pawed weakly at the cabinet hutch. It had warped over the ages, and it lay skewed in its frame so it clattered when he touched it. Each caress rewarded him with a satisfying thunk. Kapler huffed.

Inside the hutch, the vials glistened as if full of jeweled honey. He grabbed a sheaf of willowbark and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing it like frayed string, and he sorted through the bottles. Some he pocketed. If he died they might follow him to the next world. He would wander the greyest of hells in a crystalline, translucent haze, bathed in light as if he stood perpetually in the shadow of a stained-glass window.

Benedict found, at last, his greatest treasure. He cradled the bottle of poppy syrup, the draught dark as beetle-wings, sour as old wine, more luminous than any sun. He knocked vials from their racks, tugged on drying herbs. If he curled himself tight he could fit in the cabinet.

"Oh!" he breathed. "A plug of tobacco!"

"Have a little respect," Kapler said. "I wouldn't- I wouldn't-"

"You would not what?" Benedict offered the leaf. He rummaged in the cabinet again, and began to toss vials onto a bed. "Enough of these and you might find the most blissful death. Imagine it."

"You'll turn blue and curl in a ball and drool to oblivion," Vivienne said. "That's not bliss."

"Oh, no! Like sailing clouds." He pulled the cork from the bottle of poppy syrup and drank. The taste made him grimace. "This, certainly. Clouds."

It spun luminous gold in every vein. It would leave him numb, and soft, and quiet; his heart would quiet as if draped in silk.

His heart would quiet. "It works on his heart…"

"That beast," he murmured. "That Brimstone. Do you suppose he is anything like a normal beast?"

"Don't be stupid," said Kapler. "He's a monster."

"Well, do you suppose that like any normal beast, if we give him- if we give him enough poppies, or belladonna, we could fell him?" That they might stop his heart like it was a chirruping insect crushed underfoot, that huge and crazy-beating heart? "He is too large for that. But the Doctor said there are things in his kidneys that make a humour, and it works on his heart. I have read- it makes him scared."

Vivienne shook her wings. "Oh yes, frighten Brimmy to death. The blood-caked monster. Should we show him you?"

Benedict held out a vial. "There are things you might take to- to dream. But not to sleep."

Vidya barked: she was laughing, Benedict realized. "Ya scabby whelp! Ya take that stuff?"

"I do." He sneered. "It is pleasant. In moderation."

The vixen doubled over.

"Shut up!" he wailed.

"No, no no no!" said Kapler. He tripped towards a nightstand and grabbed a basin. "Maybe it could work. If we had enough. Show us everything."

"This." Benedict tossed it back on the bed. "And everything else for fever-dreams, and nightmares."

"Huh. Nightmare soup," said Vivienne. "Just like making mud-pies with the Mottles."

Benedict held up a handful of leaves, and crumbled them into gray-green flakes. "He is certain to enjoy."


	65. 62: the Godhead Fires, the Soul Attains

**Chapter 62. the Godhead Fires, the Soul Attains**

_by Benedict_

I cannot grow;

I have no shadow

To run away from,

I only play.

I cannot err;

There is no creature

Whom I belong to,

Whom I could wrong…

- _Hymn to St. Cecilia_, W.H. Auden

* * *

Benedict found spirits, and by fire stoked with linen and medicinal twigs had reduced the herbs to tar. It looked like incense in a brazier, smelled harsh and needling-mischievous. He dabbed his claw in it and applied to his tongue. A shiver of disgust swelled his throat; he spat, an explosive "pfuh!", but he kept the morsel tucked in his cheek. He could not feel his tongue. That was the wild lettuce. Then the wormwood flowered, acrid but with a grassy-spring trail; after this came hopslike henbane.

"It is ready," he purred.

Vidya sniffed. Vivienne pulled a face. Kapler batted Benedict's shoulder. "And what are you going to do with that? Throw it at him?"

Benedict swaddled the tar in oil-soaked bandages and twine, then stuffed it in a jar. The smell glowed ember-red. "Burn it… the smoke will do its work. Or throw it, yes- it will be very hot. There is something like it that ladies will put on their paws and cheeks and it makes them believe they can fly."

"I'd like to try that," said Vivienne.

Benedict prickled. "Such things are- cannily? is that the word- used. I am kept from falling sickness that way. Clare brought me my syrup."

"Let me see yar eyes, cat," Vidya demanded, suddenly. "Ya look at me, now."

"No!"

"Show me. I've 'alf a mind ya're trickin' us somehow."

"I would not." He pulled up a lid. "I cannot hide a knife there, you know. Nor anything else."

"No." Vidya huffed. "Ya two" - she motioned at Vivienne and Kapler- "ya'll lay out a path for us. Tell me where we can 'ide, or rest. I'll lead. 'e follows me."

The halls were now eerily quiet, except for strange skittering, banging noises from above. Benedict thought perhaps they were ghosts, moving through an early twilight where everything dimmed and blurred as if seen through smeared glass.

"'e's tryin' t'get somewhere," said Vidya.

"Oh, no," said Kapler. "Everyone- do you think-?"

"No," said Vidya. "What's 'e goin' after, if that 'appened?"

They stood at the foot of the stairs. Benedict set down his jar of poisons. "Wait. Get the flint from my pocket."

"Ya stop that right now-"

"Shut up, hag. It won't burn immediately. Would you like that creature to sneeze, or would you like him to-?" He shrugged one shoulder.

Kapler set sparks to kindling, a scrap torn from the clothes of a corpse. The jar gave off guttering black smoke. Benedict prodded the flame's heart with his awl, trying to nudge it into the side of the jar so it would catch the rags. At last it rewarded them with stinking, herby white fug, but it was scarce and thin, and hardly enough to smother a beetle in its hidey-hole.

"Keep it going," Benedict said. He inhaled, and coughed.

"I knew yar plans were worthless."

"We need- a spar, or a spear, or a sword," he said, casting about for something. "A chair's leg. An arrow. Stick it to him. Or." He wobbled. "Or…"

"What now?" The vixen's fangs stretched daggery and numerous as lampreys' teeth.

Flattening his ears, Benedict scuffled back. "Bird, I want to see your scarf."

"It'll make you look ill. Worse than you already do," said Viv.

"Look." His paw swept a circle in the air, about the jar's rim. "We will tie it about, and you drop it."

"Hup." Vivienne wriggled out of the scarf. The fabric undulated in Benedict's paws, yards and yards of it. He frowned, but tied the end around the jar, found then it was shorter than he had thought. Gold flicker-flashed at his left. "My ring-"

He lunged at Kapler. "That is my ring! My wedding ring. And all my bottles. Give over what's mine!"

"I never!" The vole flailed his arms, trying to keep Benedict at bay. "I did not!" Kapler finally struck Benedict's left arm, and the cat leapt away. His back arched; he yowled. His ring gleamed on his swollen finger.

"I did not mean to," said Benedict. "Truly…"

The lie clung desperately in his throat. With slow steps, they mounted the stairs. Again, the shudder he felt on tasting the tar racked him. He spat a black gob of mucus onto the stair. Vidya sneered and stepped around him. He felt hated; he felt reviled. He felt he did not care. At that moment he envied the Brimstone creature; he had realized things about himself, swimming through the poison's lucid currents. Such a brutish thing would never feel that way.

It had been prevarication: Cromley, Vidya, the journal, his regrets, his cruelties, his kindnesses, his children, his Clare. It was a sliver, a narrowness, a blind and flailing stab aiming at the truth of him.

Once he stood in the door of a dark room watching a white girl-kitten in a black domino reel drunkenly away from him. She crumpled like paper underneath his paws, she could never refuse his wealth if she wanted to regain her own, never if his brood writhed and kicked its way out of her- and a glimmer of some distant cousin to joy lit on his heart: elation wearing shaggy hide and wicked claws, triumph at having done it all. He won the elaborate game of courtship, cut the knot with a single blow of his sword. He could cast beasts into terror merely by burning a book. He possessed no remorse, served no penitence, sought no justice and no pleasure. He only conquered. What existed, after him?

A burble of vomit, a giggle heaved out of him. They came to the top of the stairs. Brimstone stood at the midpoint, battering at another barricade. Vivienne took the scarf in claw and flitted at the badger; the smoky projectile bounced off his armor, clattered and broke on the stone. Benedict heard Vidya curse. He vaulted forward and took the flaming tar in paw. He shrieked, bounced, scrabbled over Brimstone's cold iron back and thrust the oily mass into the badger's eyes.

The screaming beast reeled back and fell. It left him huddled on the ground, and it bolted out the hallway and down the stairs. Kapler shrunk against the wall, and Vidya ran to Benedict's side.

"Is that it? Is that what ya planned? Ya did it fer us-"

"I did nothing for you," he gurgled. "You are worthless."

"Be quiet. Ya're not well."

"No." Every part of him warped and splintered, screamed with pain. His paw crept to the awl at his side. "Bring my wedding ring to Clare- tell her I will always watch her-"

And he struck Vidya. The vixen screamed. He rolled over, slumped into the jointure of floor and wall. Gore anointed him, rich and purpling-red; he suckled blood and opium from his paw. Poison seeped through his skin. Something bubbled from his nose, vanished, expanded again.

He lay there for some time.

* * *

Where are you hiding, Dolores Haze?

Why are you hiding, darling?

(I talk in a daze, I walk in a maze

I cannot get out, said the starling).

[…]

My car is limping, Dolores Haze,

And the last long lap is the hardest,

And I shall be dumped where the weed decays,

And the rest is rust and stardust.

- _Lolita_, Vladimir Nabokov

end of week seven.


	66. 63: Firebird Suite

beginning of week eight.

**Chapter 63. Firebird Suite**

_by Vivienne_

'"From the very first day, throw a child back on its own resources - even a little cruelly sometimes. But don't neglect it, don't have a negative attitude to it. Play with it, tease it and roll it over as a dog her puppy, mock it when it is too timorous, laugh at it, scold it when it really bothers you... but always remember that it is a single little soul by itself; and that the responsibility for the wise, warm relationship is yours, the adult's." ~ _Fantasia of the Unconscious,_ D. H. Lawrence.

* * *

_Thump thump thump thump_

Pawsteps pawsteps. Pawsteps marching. Always marching.

This little hole - my favorite, safest spot in the abbey - it kept me out of sight, but it echoed every single step. It's back in a corner of the cloisters, where only moonlight and dust can find a way in. Ma never could find me here, and when she got mad or the abbey dibbuns started to hunt me, I'd give a hard wriggle and worm my way through the cracks of the old stonework, as if the old building itself was keeping me hidden.

I barely fit; I must be through with hiding.

But I had to get out, now. David's been waiting in The Nest, and who knows what vermin might duck in there. So I pushed forward. My eyes were shut, since the crevice rains dust and powdery stone on my face. It blinds and chokes and the walls seemed to pull at me, hooking my legs and biting into my stomach.

But I can't stay, so I wrested myself free, catching a paw on the rock and pitching onto my snout. It stings, but worse, it put me on the ground. The stench on the ground…

Moles and voles and weaselmaids, rats and stoats... all of them.

But I could do one thing. I could run. I was always good at it. Had to be.

Cloisters turned to breezeways turned to walkways turned to orchards and there it was, another place once-safe, now…

But David's waiting for me in there and he needs to know.

I stopped at the entrance and pressed my back against the cool ground, mounded where Burrley had dug. Little Burrley of the lace and trowel, who was back in that building. My little sister, left by mother and brother to Fates knew what.

The cold earth slowed my heart, slowed its marchmarchfastmarch and quieted it out of my ears. It let me think. It let me try to pull together words for a barely-known friend. A sometime snitch that I had thought the worst of my enemies when I was raiding the Doctor's biscuits. Before I knew what an enemy was.

His father…

I tried. I tried to think like him. But the Doctor wasn't Ma. He wasn't big and bold and wise and fast and clever, and she couldn't die. She was…

Where was she?

I hadn't seen her, or heard her, or seen the Mottles. It had been months since the last time I'd been this long from her, since she was kept out on a patrol and the storm hit. And since I'd gone days without her? Longer still. And that time she almost couldn't come back. I almost cost her and me and little Burrley - no bigger than a wing at that time - a chance for a home here. But this was never home, not after that winter and the ice and wet and pain. Not after Cloverleaf said those things: threats and words I never understood as a kit, but even then I knew we all were different. And if that was bad, she must have been the worst.

Stop. For David, now. Talk to him.

I took another deep breath. The thaw was almost here and let its grasp of the snow-trapped ground loosen. I smelled old smells: cider and pie and cinnamon and cloves; Murray's first latrine and the vegetable cookout at harvest; Ma keeping me close and me trying to wriggle out, knowing it was almost time to hate her cuddling down.

It is almost time…

I stepped into The Nest, amazed at the chill. No cooking in the abbey kitchen, no fires in our dugouts, and all around was the cold damp of an empty root cellar: the memory of something alive trying to fill the dark space.

I'm alone. The only one who knows I'm here or who I am is this hedgehog I spent the last month torturing with stolen-stuff pranks. And he's here, waiting for me. Alive, because of me. The knowledge felt like a half-digested plumbline in my stomach.

But one body makes a lot of heat. And back in Viv's study, I could hear David rustling about. I padded softly over and stopped to observe him. He was writing, scribbling madly on the back of some of our drawings. The clumsy art taken from the walls was co-opted under his quick paws, put to industrious use.

"Erm..." My voice was buried back in my throat, anxious and scared.

He looked up with eyes wide, but quickly grinned. The candles around the small room must have been hiding my expression, since he began to talk in an excited tone. "Jinck! Wonderful! I think I've finally made some progress. You see, Dad had this idea all wrong. Well, maybe wrong's too strong a term. Anyway, a large weapon is hard to move, so I made it small again, but then I remembered the clock he was always working on, and..."

I moved to the table next to him; the hedgehog drifted off. His brows rose at the corners when he saw my face. "What is it, Jinck?"

"It's... it's about your dad."

David kept quiet, waiting for me.

"I was in the Great Hall, and the badger charged, and we heard this bang - like a tree falling or- and they shot the weapon. But your dad..." I couldn't finish.

He was silent. I had to finish. "Something got him. He was laying there and I couldn't stop it and every other beast was running past and if I tried to help -"

"If? You didn't even try to...?"

"I'm sorry, David! I never wanted... I didn't mean- I'm sorry."

The hedgehog closed his eyes and breathed. He opened them, and his stare was far away. "Dad."

I watched as he set down his pen and buried his face. It took a long time, but his body began to shake. Each sob rattled his wind chime spikes, sending hollow chicka-chickas through the Nest. "Oh, Dad... you never should have left your study..."

"David. I'm sorry."

The hog shook his head. "It's not your fault, Jinck. It's..." He raised his head, and turned a red-eye stare at me. It made me shiver. "It's Moonshot and that badger. Get me to dad's rooms, Jinck."

"What?" My voice came out as more of a squeak than I expected.

"Take me there. I'm going to finish this." His voice cracked, but still sounded calmer than mine.

"How...?"

"I'll take care of it."

"What are you -"

"I'll take care of it!"

I could only nod dumbly. Taking care of it... that's what Ma always did, what grown beasts did.

"Can you get me there?"

"I think so," I replied. I moved back to the laundry, waving for David to follow. As I reached up and started untying a clothesline, I heard the hedgehog come into the room behind me. I continued explaining as I worked, "I'll pretend you're a prisoner. Tie up your paws with this and lead you upstairs."

So, we left the nest. Getting back into the Great Hall was a simple enough task. I felt the gazes flicker past me: admiration and pride - a stripeling with his first capture; anger and envy - light duty further back; scorn and hate - someone taking the glory, and a young rip to boot.

The yells came first, hoarse and long, but cut off by a single angered bellow. It was that beast again.

David nudged me from behind. "Library."

I nodded and took off at a jog, pulling him along behind me. The doors were on this floor, in a hallway off of Great Hall. Like a tiny fish in a flood, we darted off into a harbor before the tide of beasts fleeing the monster engulfed us.

It only took a few kicks to open the library doors.

"Jinck..."

I turned at David's voice.

Cold steel gleamed between my eyes, forcing them crossed as it inched closer.

"In you go, you two."


	67. 64: For ever the society of men

**Chapter 64. For ever the society of men.**

_by Vidya_

Vidya stood gaping at Benedict. The gash in her side that he had made was still oozing blood; she held her paw against it, feeling the sting of her rough linen shirt.

"We have to keep moving, Vidya," Vivienne said. "The badger ran off somewhere; we should see if we can find Moonshot."

The vixen nodded, slowly, not taking her eyes off of the cat. 'e meant t'die. 'e meant t'do this. She didn't move.

Kapler walked over and stood beside her. Looking at the mess that Benedict had become, he gulped. "C'mon, Miss Vidya." He pulled at her elbow.

Vidya's eyes focused on the rest of the hallway. They're right, of course. There's more t'do. She allowed herself to be pulled away from the body. In a haze, she followed her companions down the stairs. At the bottom, Vivienne landed in front of the vixen.

"Snap out of it. Now!" She buffeted Vidya across the face.

The vixen started. "Right, sorry. It's just, well..."

"I know, I know." Vivienne clucked, starting her mother-hen routine. "But other beasts are still in danger. That crazy weasel is still running loose."

"Of course. Kapler, where was Skipper, last ya saw 'im?"

"Near the infirmary. They were holed up...maybe they did but...I don't think think they made it."

"Let's go. We'll need 'im t'elp if we catch up with Moonshot."

The second-floor hallway was deserted. Vivienne fluttered into the air and flew down it towards the infirmary. Vidya and Kapler ran behind her, dodging corpses and debris. As the trio neared the stairs to the main floor, they could hear the remnants of the abbeybeasts being herded into Great Hall.

They turned a corner, and stopped, looking for Skipper and his otters. All the doors in the hall stood open, the rooms within were overturned. The green robes that the abbeybeasts wore were flung everywhere; beds were on their sides.

Kapler sighed after looking into yet another empty room. "They must have been ki...caught."

"No, that door, there. It's closed. Buttonbush an' th' others must be inside."

Vidya trotted to the closed door and jiggled the handle. She grunted, straining to force open the door.

A voice from within shouted at them, "Go away, vermin! We'll beat ya back, too, jus' like th' others!"

"Skipper, it's Vidya! Open th' door!"

A heavy scraping sound could be heard, along with grumbles and curses from the otters within. The door opened.

"Well, Miss Vidya, Miss Viv, Kapler," Skipper nodded at each beast in greeting, "d'ya need a place to 'ide?"

Vidya scowled at the burly otter. "Ya're goin' to stay 'oled up 'ere and let everyone be killed? Ya're the Skipper, for 'Gate's sake!"

"But, Miss Vidya, they outnumber us an' 'alf the abbey doesn't know 'ow to fight!"

"That's why we 'ave t'take th' lead, Buttonbush. Bring those other five guards with. Moonshot is still wanderin' around crazy." The vixen hustled him out the door; she left Vivienne and Kapler to herd the others after them. She turned towards the main stairs leading down.

"If ya want to go down, we should go th' other way," Skipper said. "There's a back stair 'ere that leads to one o' the cloisters."

The group raced down the hallway to a small door tucked into a niche. Skipper opened it and led them down the stairs. One side of the stairwell was made of the same red stones that graced the outer walls of the abbey; they were cold to the touch. Vidya ran her paw along the wall as they descended.

This is what we're fightin' for, now. This is their 'ome. Vidya glanced at the skipper running at her side. It's just like us, when we're lookin' after our own. And, then, somehow it was worth it all. It's just a bigger family.

At the end of the stairwell, there was another small door. It creaked on its hinges as Skipper opened it. Vidya caught her breath as the cold, outside air hit her. They came out into the sunlight. The courtyard would have been beautiful in the spring; right now, it was just another blanket of white with bare branches protruding through the snow. In the middle of the cloister stood a statue of a warrior mouse; the same mouse that was on the tapestry hanging inside the abbey. The group fanned out and walked around the carefully sectioned off flower beds.

Across the courtyard, a movement caught Vidya's eye. She stopped short and motioned the others to do the same. Everybeast stood where they were and turned to see Moonshot and his guards come around the building.

"Well, look here! We meet again." Moonshot leered at the abbeybeasts. "Come to avenge your abbot? You'll need more than a few otters to get to me!" He threw his head back and cackled into the cold air.

Kapler took a deep breath and shouted across the cloister. "You'll be stopped! Even if we can't, somebeast will stop you!" He slumped into himself, his courage used up.

"Oh really, little vole?" The weasel taunted them. "There's not a fighter here that can stand up to me."

"Just give me a chance, Moonshot! Give me a fair fight. Ya an' me, weasel." Vidya stepped forward, challenging him.

A loud crash split the frigid air. Brimstone came charging into the courtyard, tearing plants and statues down. His eyes were bloodshot; the pupils were huge.

"Moonshot!" The badger bellowed the name and charged.

He smacked the weasel with the back of his paw and sent him flying. Moonshot lay on the ground in a crumpled mass, unconscious. His guards moved in to protect their commander. Brimstone grabbed up one, a rat, and folded him in half. Vidya could hear the crack of the rat's spine from across the way.

Vivienne hopped-fluttered next to the vixen. "We have to get out of here or he'll kill us, too."

"I know. We can't go back up th' stairs, though," Vidya whispered back. "Can we go around t'th' front of th' abbey?"

Skipper joined in the hushed conversation. "If we sneak behind th' badger, we can go through th' front doors. We'll 'ave to face th' whole army then."

"That's better than gettin' killed out 'ere with no chance. Let's go."

Vidya and Skipper crept around the courtyard to the front of the building. Vivienne herded Kapler and the other others otters after them. The smallest otter tripped over an upturned tree as he left the courtyard. Everybeast stopped and held their breath, hoping that Brimstone had not heard him fall.

The battle din from the courtyard fell silent.

"Run!" Vivienne flew past the group to knock at the abbey's great doors. She perched on the handle and pecked at it furiously. The others rushed up to the doors and added their paws to the wren's beak. They shouted to be let in.

Brimstone came around the corner, running headlong at the group.

The doors groaned open; a guard of ferrets stood in the opening. "What're ye -"

"Move -"

"Let us in -"

Vidya, Vivienne, Kapler, and the otters shoved past the startled guards.

"'e's comin' after us!"

They barged into Great Hall. "Everyone, take cover! Th' badger is comin'!"

Tables were flipped and beasts hid behind them or under them. Some beasts cowered in corners; others fled into the hallways. The trio leapt behind an overturned banquet table to wait.

Brimstone came raging into the middle of Great Hall and stopped. He looked around at the stained glass windows, the abbeybeasts in green habits, and the army in its red armour.

The badger gave a mighty roar and began to hit everything within arms' reach of him. The sounds of metal on wood echoed through the vaulted ceilings and settled back down onto the horrified occupants of the hall. Beast scrambled to get away from Brimstone. All animosity was forgotten; abbeybeasts helped the vermin and the vermin helped the abbeybeasts.

Still, Brimstone raged on. Splinters of the great tables stuck in his fur as he whirled about the room, smashing everything. Bodies lay strewn across the rubble.

He began to pant and stopped hitting things. The badger crumpled to the floor, a strange sound coming from his maw.

'_e's cryin'. _Vidya stood up from her hiding place. _Th' drugs must be workin'._

She advanced on the badger with Vivienne and Kapler a pace behind her. Other beasts were emerging from their own barricades and started to close in on Brimstone. He looked up and gave a startled cry. The badger picked himself up; every other beast stopped in their tracks. Brimstone looked at them and slunk off towards Cavern Hole.


	68. 65: Callous

**Chapter 65. Callous**

_by Vivienne_

I am a restlessness inside a stillness inside a restlessness. ~ Cassandra, _I Capture the Castle_

* * *

It was a small crowd that ventured to the doorway to Cavern Hole, risking a glance inside. Viv was one of the first, her eyes narrowing as she peered into the half gloom of the subterranean hall. Deep in the corner, she could see -

"Eeeee!" A strophe of screams came from the other end of the room - high, from young ones.

The Mottles! Viv flapped in toward them, her voice low and urgent. "Shh, shh, now, my darlings."

Brimstone gave the antistrophe, a low moaning dirge. "No, no, make them stop..."

"Miss Viv!"

"Miss Viv, you've got to -"

"- an' so scared -"

"Please -"

The wren backed up from her mob, holding her wings out in front of her. "Please! Shh!" A dozen paws grasped at her, beggars seeking supplication and succor. "Please, Mottles, you need to -"

Another groan from the badger cut her off.

"Come on." Her voice dropped to a hissing whisper, her wings waving the Mottles toward the door.

"But there's still RFA out there," Vidya muttered in her ear.

Eggrot! The wren wrapped her wing about the nearest dibbun and led them toward an alcove, a niche where the room followed nature's gentle guidance instead of the rigid plans of the ordered abbeybeasts. "In here, everyone, and you really must be quiet."

Small shapes filtered by as the Mottlefeathers filed into the space. Stray paws reached out to her, seeking some comfort in her down as they passed. The constant movement set her feathers on edge, turning softness to prickles. It made her itch.

When Clare passed in the procession, Vivienne shot a claw out. Clare squeaked at the violent action and seemed to quail from the smaller bird. "My son," Viv asked, "have you seen him?"

"I - I don't -" The cat replied.

"A weasel. Young, but old enough to almost care for himself. Jinck. They'd have known him and - oh, you're useless." She gave a sharp push and turned her attention to Burrley, who had appeared by Clare's side. "Have you seen him?"

"Burr, you be treatin' miz Clare roight, miz Viv!" Burrley admonished. "Tha' ol' weezil ain't wit' us'ns, marm."

Viv's voice shifted to a sharp snarl, "Just get them in there, will you?"

She spun on her heel and marched toward the other end of the room. Cheated! What's the use in the lot of them without Jinck.

"That... seemed a little harsh, Viv," Kapler said.

"It's none of your concern," the bird replied.

_No, because it's not like you cared enough to join us and help. Instead, you became a horrible, murderous shade of a beast. _Viv paused a few yards from the panting mass of badger, her eyes only half-focusing on him as her thoughts danced just out of reach like a sprightly grasshopper. _An' Jinck's not here either. Which means he was probably upstairs when…_

Just then, it felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, then replaced by a chain about her leg. One less worry, but one more grief.

A long sniff echoed from the badger's curled form. The pitiable sound burrowed somewhere deep in her mind, and Viv flew at the beast, a screaming, clawing mass; it was a strange, detached feeling.

"You're crying? You? You monster! You murderer! You disgusting, terrible -" Viv punctuated each comment with a hard jab. Flesh dimpled then buckled under her claws, each sharp rend, each hot spray, every motion gratifying. "You dare to - No!"

Hard paws clasped about her shoulders, pulling her away. "No! No! You hell-destined - no! He took him! Jinck's gone and he -"

Someone has to pay for this. For him. Someone's blood - and he started it.

The paws finally wrestled her away, separating her from her prize and dispelling the disembodied illusion. Viv could feel the hot blood, feel the stickiness starting on her claws, feel the splinters and fur embedded in her feathers. "Please, please let me..."

"Viv, he's defenseless, look at him!" Kapler kept his grip as he spoke.

Viv shook her head. "No! Defenseless! He killed us, Kapler! Those bodies outside aren't wax and old fur, they're real. They're real and really gone and it was all him."

"'e was sick, ya crazy -" Vidya tried interrupting the bird.

However, Vivienne would not be silenced. She wriggled free and flew to the top of the room's table, leveling a glare at the vixen. "If he's mad, he should be taken care of. That's what you do when a bird's past repair. When they become egg pushers or nest tippers - when they kill something else and stop caring. They take 'em out and give 'em to a raptor for dinner."

"But, Miss Viv, look at -"

"No!" Her voice was a hoarse screech, as if she had expelled too much of herself. "No! I don't want to look at that thing! I'm out of pity. Out of caring. If he wants forgiveness, he can lumber upstairs and beg it from the empty rooms, since he crushed the beasts that lived there. So go on, Kapler. Go ask Skipper's bedclothes if it's lonely without him? Go ask their bureaus and bedtables and gravestones if a few dropped tears are enough."

"She's right." The badger's voice was molassas-thick, clogged and choked. "If I can't be finished, I should just die."

"Finished!" Viv flew at the badger, tearing at the chinks in his armor with her beak, pulling tufts of acrid blood-matted fur. "Finished? I lost my son because you came here, you mon-" She hit flesh and dug her curved beak in. "- strosity. If you want to die, I'll do it myself. Just gimme a knife, gimme ah-"

She was pulled off again, this time by the vixen. "Get off, ya crazy bird, 'e doesn't 'ave yar son." She pinned the flapping matron with her knee.

"No! Don't stop me - don't..."

Kapler had moved closer to the badger and was holding out a tentative paw. "Are you... all right?" He frowned at the absurdity of the question.

The badger shook and shrank from the paw. Words spilled forth, a babbling brook overcoming a dam of pebbles. "I didn't mean to. I didn't know. He did something to me, he cut me open and - and now I don't know, I don't know how to stop. And some things... when I hear them I just can't help myself, it makes me angry and I can't stop and nothing can stop me, that's what he said would happen, and that's all I needed and -"

"'e's crazier than she is," Vid commented.

Kap waved a paw to silence her. "Wait, wait. Brimstone. Slow down. What... how did you -"

The badger didn't slow, but shifted - an oxbow in the conversation. "Second son, second son, we're never the right ones. And I wasn't gonna be no laborer, so I went to him. I went to the professor, he saw me skipping stones. And a right fine arm I had - he said. He took me back there, and I knew it was wrong, I knew, I knew, I never knew it could be like that. All metal and heat and the tonics." The beast whimpered and turned. His eyes were bloodshot, wide now, as if he were just a kit kept up all night by the shadows in his room. "And he showed me things and made me listen. The cries and begging - and then he'd hurt me and I couldn't help it. Every time, every time I'd get madder and madder and that poor little rabbit girl."

"Fates be kind," Vidya muttered, relaxing her hold on Viv.

The bird wriggled free and stalked forward. "You killed her?"

"Yes," Brimstone replied.

Viv moved right in front of him, crouching down until her beak was level with his visor. "And now you're killing again."

"Yes..." the voice cracked.

"My son, did you kill him, too?"

"Too many, too many..." The badger replied.

"Do you remember his face - all of them?"

"I don't - it's just -"

"Do you?" Viv pushed his muzzle up to look into his eyes. "You know they're all real beasts, right? Families, mothers, friends, sons."

He squeezed his eyes shut at that. "Second son. I was the second and my brother..."

"My son." Viv hissed in Brimstone's ear, "I don't know if you killed him or hurt him, but he's gone because you arrived. Do you think you should die for that? For taking everything from me? The only thing -"

"No. No! I don't want to -" His voice was stronger, now.

"You think you can be redeemed? You can be forgiven?"

"I don't know," Brimstone replied.

Viv could hear vague voices behind her.

"We should stop this."

"Let 'er 'ave out, Kapler. We'll stop 'er if she gets rough."

The wren ignored them. "There's only one worse than you. If there's no professor, there's only one beast worse."

"The imposter? Moonshot?" Brimstone asked.

"Yes. Yes. If you want my forgiveness. If you want to repay for taking everything. If you want to make right, you'll kill him. You'll be a goodbeast for once."

The badger paused, his body heaving, breaths trying to regain control, shore up the levies. "That's all?"

Viv stood. "Yes."

The badger placed an armored paw on the ground and levered himself up. He stood. His posture had changed. No longer did he hold his jaw forward, his shoulders raised, always looking for a victim. He looked less like a monster and instead like a farmer back from harvest: weary, strong, and resolute.

"You're right." The badger reached a broad paw onto one of the plates on his chest. With a grunt, he dug into the joint of the metal. It shrieked in protest - the last of his old life clinging to his body. "Nnnngh!" With one hard wrench, he tore off the plate, leaving three small studs and one large hole where the bolts had snapped off at their bases. His body rocked from the motion, the pale, knotted hair beneath seemed to ripple and expand, like plant long-hidden under a stone unfurling from its fetters.

He grasped one paw in the other and twisted. Again, a sharp cry from the armor at being stripped of its prize. He tossed the gauntlet aside. The pawpads were raw and wrinkled, sore less form battle but from their coverings. His fur looked like a beast bedridden - and smelled of it, the wet-hot-stale smell stifling in the close chamber.

Brimstone was silent save a few grunts as the bloody, rusty parasite was shed from him. He kicked the last greave off and stood only in his visor. "This." He touched it with a paw. "My face deserves to be hidden. The rest of me can be bare."

Viv gave a sharp nod and turned away. "Fine. You know what to do, then."

When a snake sheds his skin, he's still a snake. The wren moved away, trying to bury the little voice that kept reminding her: now, now that he's unarmored... you can make him feel pain.

"Miss Viv?" Kapler and Vidya followed, leaving the badger to his own brooding. Prayin' for forgiveness before he goes to die, I hope. The vole spoke up again, "You don't really want him to... I mean, if he attacks Moonshot, now he'll be killed for sure."

"He'll deserve it," Viv said. "He's fine with it."

"Ya're bein' a daft fool, bird. Ya've got plenty left. No need t'take it out on 'im."

Viv clacked her beak at the pair. "Shut up. Neither of you could understand. Just leave me alone."

"But what about them?" Kapler nodded to the Mottles, huddled in the near alcove. "They still need you."

"Their Mama Bird," Vidya added, insisting.

"I ain't their mama," Viv said. "I'm no one's ma, now."

"But don't -" Kap said.

"I don't care!" Viv's voice jumped to a scream. "Stop trying to fill in as everyone's son, you little wretch. You can't imagine even an evening in our places, so don't try. Think of the stares and jeers of this place, walking your son home 'cause if he's caught alone - just the idea of protecting those empty, unfeeling, doggerel beasts... I'll see this through, then try to find Jinck. And then I'm leaving."

At the silent stares from across the room, Viv deflated. "It was too much, too fast. I can't... Darlings..."

A few gave long sniffles. Most were just confused, looking to the others for direction. Murray called out a low, plaintive, "Mama Viv."

Burrley's little eyes were downcast. One digging claw strayed to the edge of Clare's dress. The mole turned away completely, then, to her new caretaker. Her new family.

He's worth more than all the world.

I'm sorry, my dears. ~ This chorus' epode.


	69. 66: Just Like Another

**Chapter 66. Just Like Another**

_by Kapler_

_I came back to life_

_And now there's time to think_

_Of someone else besides myself_

"So that's the truth. The Mottlefeathers just get in the way." A nuisance. Kapler's toes gouged the floor. His voice began notching upwards. "Did you ever love them? Ever stare into their eyes? See their desire just to be loved, needed?" The building crescendo dropped to a whisper, words that hung heavy in the air of Cavern Hole. "Were they ever anything more than a disappointment?"

Vivienne's back was hunched, tail feathers drooping. "It's not…not like that."

"You think…I wouldn't trade my past for yours? Of all the—I should pity you?"

"I don't need your pity." Vivienne's beak clacked harsh closure.

Kapler's scream was strangled halfway up his throat, spilling out as little more than a gurgle. "Course not! Not mine, not me. I'm just—"

"Stop it, Kapler." Vidya grabbed Kapler and spun him around, nose to nose. "It's not 'elpin'."

He growled and jerked away. "What, she gets to be angry and I don't?"

"Be angry later. We need t'figure out what t'do with them." She jerked her head at Clare and the crowd that huddled around her, ears flattened in confusion and fear.

"Of…course." Kapler took a deep breath and rubbed at his forehead. He looked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…sorry." As Vidya strode to Clare, he slumped against the wall, letting its cool strength support him.

He was so tired. His coat clung to his fur, a too warm embrace. His feet were sticky and stained, testament to the day's gruesome events. He sighed and massaged aching muscles. _Why can't…why can't I ever be the strong one? _The ceiling gave no answers – it never did. A low snuffle sounded from across the room.

Brimstone stood in front of a pane of glass, staring at his reflection. A solitary statue, his shoulders hunched, introspective. Pockmarked and scabrous, a massive paw rested on the visor still covering his face, as if it had risen to scratch an itch and forgotten its purpose.

Kapler wasn't scared anymore. Gone was the metal monster, mindless and wild. Left behind was loneliness, uncertainty, a kindred spirit. "You all right?" Kapler sidled closer to Brimstone, his head barely rising above the badger's massive waist.

Brimstone didn't turn from the glass. "If I'm not a weapon, not useful to somebeast…what, then?"

"It…doesn't…" Kapler fiddled with his coat, smoothing away wrinkles that weren't there. He tried to think methodically, one step at a time. "It doesn't matter what anybeast—you need to be useful to yourself." That sounded like something Russel would say.

Silence for a moment as Brimstone mulled this over. "But what if I don't know what I need?"

"That's…Brimstone—"

"My name can't be Brimstone. Not anymore."

"Oh, uh…" Kapler scratched at an ear that didn't itch. "What's your name, then?"

"My brother's name was Urthfist. The one called to the Fire Mountain. Always the stronger…But my name?" He stared down at Kapler. Sunken behind his terrible mask, the badger's eyes glistered, shining with something other than murder. "I don't remember."

Kapler could think of no answer. Those words carried terrible weight, like some great secret finally revealed. What would it be, to not remember? Beginning again. A fresh start, not just for others, but him as well. A shiver trembled up his back.

"Kapler, we need t'go!" Vidya stood at the doorway, the rest of the room empty. "We need t'get Clare an' th' kits upstairs, out of sight."

Broken from his thoughts, Kapler nodded and jogged across the room, the heavy footsteps of Brimstone following after. As they came out into the Great Hall, he stumbled to a halt, stomach twisting. Broken bodies, tumbled against chairs against tables. Pained moans wafted on the air, a melody of pain. One mangled sadness, no forgetting. Stifling death, finally real, as if before was only a dream. He retched.

"I am sorry." Brimstone towered behind, voice calm.

Clare and her charges were wending their way towards the stairs, paws linked and dibbuns' eyes clenched tight. They were quiet as they were secreted away. Aside from their group, not a beast moved; all who could had already fled.

How easy it would be to slip after them, a silent shadow. He could hide away from this madness, leave it all behind. Nobeast would notice.

"Ready?"

Well, some would. "What's the plan?"

Vidya motioned to the large doors that led outside. "We find Moonshot."

"Oh." Kapler swallowed. The thought of actually searching out the weasel…didn't sit well. He had broken his hammer in the chaos of earlier, but it didn't matter. His gaze wandered around the room, fingers opening and closing. All the scattered weapons – he could have any of them, whichever he wanted. Nobeast would stop him. Doing his best to ignore the accusing, unseeing stare of the ferret, he grabbed the soldier's weapon. It was bulky and heavy, too big for him, like his father's boots so long ago. But this, he wasn't going to lose.

"I'm ready." Fists clenched, Brimstone began walking towards the door, gait purposeful and unswerving. Kapler and the others picked their way after him. It didn't take long for their small band to reach the two doors, battered and dented, but still able to swing on their hinges. Their groans seemed appropriate.

Sunshine streamed through the doorway, warming rays that shared their gift equally. Kapler let the relaxing warmth seep through his fur – a welcome change from the chilled halls of the Abbey. Before they stepped outside—

"Wait!" Buttonbush and the Badgermum and an assortment of other creatures jogged towards them from the direction of the stairwell. There were even several vermin in their midst, refugees who had thrown in their lot with the Redwallers. Before they had come too close, they stopped, staring at the unarmored Brimstone. Gazes dragged across his marred body, catching on every pit, every scar. Their disgust and fear coiled together, a palpable distaste that made Kapler shudder.

Vivienne coughed. "How're things upstairs? How are my Mottles?" Her voice was resigned, as if this was the last she expected to hear of them.

As if remembering himself, the Skipper stepped closer. "They're fine. Lots of survivors. There's some Red Fire up there, too, but too tired t' fight. We took their weapons away, just in case." He eyed Brimstone. "Clare explained what you lot are up to. We're coming along. You'll need more than just that thing."

Vidya nodded. "Glad t'ave ya."

It wasn't hard to find Moonshot. They had only to follow his tracks from the spot where he had landed after Brimstone sent him flying. A short trek across the snow-covered grounds, and there he stood, out in the open, in front of a small cluster of Red Fire soldiers. Waiting. Ready.

They stopped a safe distance away, leaving a clear field between them. Kapler gripped his weapon tight. This was it.

"Ah, you return!" The weasel's arms lifted in mock greeting. The collar on his thick coat was high, but the stained bandage on his neck still peered out. He rubbed at it as he surveyed them from across the clearing. "Is this everybeast? Not quite the turnout I expected.

"We can take 'em." Buttonbush spoke low, addressing the group. "They have more, but with two badgers, we can take 'em."

Vidya held up a paw. "Let's not rush into things." She yelled to Moonshot, "what's yar game?"

"Game? Whatever do you mean?"

Vidya motioned to the expanse between them. "Why waitin' out 'ere?"

"Poetic, isn't it? Picturesque. Seems a fitting place to settle matters."

"Moonshot." Brimstone pushed his way to the front of the group.

"Ah, you're alive!" Moonshot stared, then laughed. "I didn't recognize you so unclothed! My my my. I was going to complete you. Make you better, gorgeous, even! And now look at you!" The sneer in his voice was biting and quick. "Old, haggard, imperfect. What possible use could I have for you now?"

"I am not yours to use."

Moonshot cackled. "When you're dead, I'll dance on your skull. Dance in my new fortress."

Brimstone stepped closer to the Red Fire Army, a distorted figure fantastic in the light of day. "No more words."

Moonshot's lips twisted into a leer. His claws beckoned. "Shut up, then." A thunderous groan began underfoot, as if a sleeping giant was waking.

"Something's wrong," Vivienne muttered.

Kapler nodded, but said nothing. He fingered his sword, but found no reassurance.

Brimstone charged, pounding paws sending snow in every direction.


	70. 67: Death for a Deadly Deed

**Chapter 67. Death for a Deadly Deed**

_by Vidya_

The badger charged at Moonshot; his great paws kicking up a blizzard of snow. Nobeast could see as they collided, but everybeast heard the thump of their bodies hitting the ground. And another sound, under the snow.

When the flying snow settled, Moonshot was pinned under the great badger. His eyes were wide as he struggled to free his arm. Brimstone kept him held down while pummeling the weasel with one paw. Crimson rained down onto the snow, splattering around the struggling pair. Moonshot wiggled his arm loose. He stabbed his dagger into the badger again and again, frantically trying to get free.

The sound coming from under the snow got louder. It grew into a thundering, shattering racket.

"It's th' pond!" Vidya took a few hurried steps back. "'e was on th' pond th' whole time. Th' ice is breakin'. Everybeast back!"

The group moved back, away from the breaking ice. Moonshot's guards tried to run; they slipped and tripped on the cracking ice and fell into the frigid water.

Brimstone stopped fighting and watched the water that started seeping onto the ice. As the ice cracked beneath them, he grabbed onto the flailing weasel. The pair started to slide into the water, under the floating ice. He looked back at Vidya, Vivienne, and Kapler.

* * *

Vidya stared as Brimstone and Moonshot sank into the pond. For a long moment, she locked eyes with the badger; there was an acceptance in his eyes. 'e's givin' up. 'e's tryin' t'redeem 'imself.

The courtyard was silent as everybeast watched the macabre scene play out. Moonshot slid into the freezing water, screaming even as his head went under. The last that Vidya saw of him was his paw, scratching at the badger's arm. Brimstone held tight to the weasel and allowed his weight to pull him down. Some bubbles rose to the surface of the pond and popped. Then, everything was quiet.

Vidya turned to look at the mass of beasts behind her. There were so few compared to when she first entered the abbey's gates. They looked tired, beaten, and weary.

Even the remaining few from the Red Fire Army knew that the fight was over. Some stood looking at the hole in the ice, sadness darkening their features; others looked around at the abbeybeasts, their brows furrowed with worry. They laid down their weapons and turned with everybeast else to gather inside the building.

Vidya, Vivienne, and Kapler led the group to the main doors. Skipper and his otters were behind them with the rest of the beasts straggling along.

The vixen opened the great doors. In front of her stood a pair of young beasts: a weasel and a hedgehog.

"Jinck! I thought you'd -" The words died on Vivienne's beak.

Behind the young beasts, there was a flash of metal!


	71. 68: Greyheart

**Chapter 68. Greyheart**

_by Vivienne_

"We are not the same, greyheart.

Only those who share feather and beak can remain together always.

Maybe I shouldn't have taken care of you at all, but you were so poor, and so dear,

and I have never had a chick to love.

You will be all right now, I know it.

You should have a flock, and a nest.

I could give you only a burning tree and cold fruit." – Lantern, _In the Night Garden_

My son.

"Jinckley..." his name stumbled out of my beak, falling between us in a huddled heap.

I glanced between his tight grimace and the glittering knife behind him. He was here, finally. Two steps from my wings and safety and I had to stand dumb, a statue fit for perching.

I leaned in, trying to peer behind both Jinck and David, at the dagger's owner.

The gloom was dispelled by a toothy smile, which led the rest of Jinck's captor into the light. "Now, now, Miss Viv. I'm fairly certain you want to be backing up."

Cromley leaned in between the young beasts and continued, "Do I need to emphasize this?"

I shook my head and took an extra-large hopskip back, waving my companions to do the same. Kapler moved back to my side, his face drawn, as if another twist might stress him to breaking, like a too-twirled stem, torn ragged from a dibbun's abuse.

Vidya didn't move, but spoke over her shoulder at me, "Ya know, Viv, we could probably kill 'im before 'e 'urts th' lads."

I hissed at the stone-spined vixen – she had to pick now to be so inflexible? "We'll worry about that when we can, come on, Vidya."

"I don't like listening t'im." Her tone was stern and a paw drifted to her knives.

"Please, Vidya," I said, moving up behind her. My wings wrapped around and pulled at her set hips firmly. "They aren't yours to risk."

She gave in and moved back with me – so dear in her loyalty, but willing to listen to reason – and then leaned a slight weight on my shoulders. The past hours had drained her more than any other, given her age. Still, she leaned down to me and forced her voice to steadiness: "We'll get 'im back, Viv, don't ya worry."

"Skipper'll never let them out," Kapler echoed reassurance.

And there you go again, reminding me of little families that might have been, in a different life.

"Good." The slithering, villainous voice sotto voce-d ahead of the cat, clearing a path past the abbeybeasts, who stepped away from the spectacle. "Now, if you all will be so kind as to move away from the side gate."

Most did. The badgermum moved against the tide, planting herself as a dam before the kidnapper's progress. She said, "No, cat. You'll surrender."

"And why would I do that?" Cromley sounded more confident than should have. "The mama bird won't let any of you get close enough; besides which, none would want a death on their heads, especially not a young beast like one of these two."

Jinck's eyes darted to the dagger at his back. He licked his lips, then said, "David, we should just dart off. He can only catch one, if he's lucky. And one of us moving might give them a chance to catch him."

David replied, "I – I'm not sure, Jinck."

"It'll be easy. A quick – Aaa!"

Cromley interrupted with a swipe across Jinck's ear. "No, it won't." He dug his claws into Jinck's shoulder and pushed him along, waving the dagger vaguely at the hedgehog next to them. "Come along, David. If not, I'll kill this one, and trust that I could catch you."

The trio shuffled along the pond, toward the wallgate and badger. We three followed at a distance, and the abbeybeasts stayed behind us, closing a gooseflock about the scene, leaving the badgermum her share of space at the open end.

"Jinck's right." My beak seemed to be moving of its own accord, betraying my son just to catch this cat. "If you both go..."

Cromley looked back over his shoulder at us. "You know, madame, I think you might be right. I only need one of them, after all."

Before we could move, he dropped the blade and dug it into the back of Jinck's leg, tearing into the flesh and tendon. The weasel cried out, and began to fall forward. A sharp kick sent him into the water, a fetal lodestone with his injury.

I didn't cry out - I let others do that - but saved my breath.

I dove; the sharp water pierced my down with an icy talon, driving true to my core. I swam. I swam like a bird transformed, shedding feathers for scales and doing my best to ignore the growing tightness in my chest. A voice grew close in my ear, teasing below the heavy whoosh of the pond, and I could almost smell the evening before winter first hit, dozens of lifetimes past. I knew I was being flooded over as I sank. Jinck was no nearer, and the cold was squeezing my eyes shut. The voice was promising, wheedling like a princess ant after an apple core. Asking again why we couldn't just leave here and go south. And her breath was fennel again - harvesting for the otters down the stream for Jinck's fishbone supper - sweet and spicy and so close to mine. Water grew dim then bright, as I drifted back - my mind keeping itself from remembering what drowning does, no doubt - hiding in this memory.

"- and I could find us a nice, little lime tree, Vivi. Or a dogwood."

"And what about Jinck?"

_The water may be firm, but my resolve is firmer._

"A nest of three isn't so bad. Besides, he'll not grow much bigger. Maybe we can wheedle a grackle family into leaving, that would work fine. Or find a hollow trunk."

"But here we'll always have Redwall to fall back on."

_It's like flying through molasses, but fly I must._

"Since when was that a positive, Vivi? You hate it! Come on, one last adventure. South, to where our wings can enjoy longer seasons."

"I do hate it, but when times get rough -"

_My feathers are breaking, but they can grow back. My beak burns - burns where her hard-tap kisses rapped against mine but left a sweetness like cider and mayflys and fat, contented bees dipped in their own honey - yet it will heal._

"We can always find more. He can find the choicest beetles under rocks, we'll pluck him the juiciest cherries - those that have reached for the sun and stolen its brilliance."

"Lynne, please."

_New air, new feathers, but no new sons._

She was slipping away, though. Squeezed out by rough paws about my waist. They clenched and vised and pushed the air all out, too, no matter my struggles. Worst, they left Jinck. All the hot, angered air I'd shout at them was gone and great gulps of bracken slush swarmed in, making a plumb of me. Though my lungs burned, I felt so tired, and my eyes heaviest of all.

No, not the heaviest. Her fennel-sweet beak and his musky, furry claws that fought to hold me and pull me close were so much heavier, heavy as fogged feathers.

And in his eyes, fear as old as the day she first found-

"Stories are like prayers. It does not matter when you begin, or when you end, only that you bend a knee and say the words." – Saint Sigrid, _In the Night Garden_


	72. 69: Back to Life

**Chapter 69. Back to Life**

_by Kapler_

_There was a being and he lived on his own_

_He had no one to talk to_

_And nothing to do_

_He drew up the plans_

_Learnt to work with his hands_

_And then his work was done_

Death in the pond, cresting over tail feathers. Choices made.

"Viv!" Kapler stared at the just-turbulent waters, ripples smoothing away all incident. Something boiled up his throat, unwelcome and wet. Before he could talk himself out of it, before he could think, he ran forward. The water winked eagerly, inviting him in. He breathed deep.

"Hang on, mate!" Strong paws yanked him back.

"Let go! Leggo!" Kapler's voice squeaked as he twisted and squirmed, trying to slip free.

"Too cold." Buttonbrush leaned in close, whiskers scratchy against Kapler's fur. All grace, several otters dove past and into the water. "Don't want t' go saving you, too. Leave it t' us." He clapped him on the back and followed after the others.

Frustrated action roiled inside Kapler like a whirlpool without outlet. He chewed his lip, rubbed his nape, stomped away from the edge. He glanced around, brow furrowed. Everybeast clustered close, ignoring him. How could they act so calm? Just standing there, as if this happened every day. He growled and gripped his sword. He wanted to help. But there was no…

A chill hopstepped upwards, freezing his breath in his lungs. David!

Across the water and broken ice, slinking towards the side gate – Cromley, pushing David ahead of him. Caught up in the excitement of Vivienne's heroic dive, enthralled by the rescue, everybeast seemed to have forgotten about them.

His fingers thrummed the sword hilt. Willing wings to his feet, he skirted around the pond and pounded towards the wildcat. If he could catch him in time, if he could get in one good swing…

* * *

"You're a fool, cat." An angry hiss, barely in control. "Just give up—"

Cromley dug his claws into the hedgepig's shoulder, cutting off further pleading. "Don't be stupid, David." He'd get through the side gate, then be rid of this burden. One more parting gift for this wretched abbey. Son gone to meet father.

Gasping snarls from behind, louder than Moonshot's snoring, betrayed the approaching attacker. Cromley jerked down and around, dragging David after. A sword bit into snow and Kapler stumbled past, putting himself between Cromley and the side gate. The brave, stupid idiot – always where he shouldn't be. Cromley sneered. "Didn't expect you, Kapler."

Kapler turned, a green recruit with arms straight and shaking. "L-let David go."

"Are you trying to kill him?" Cromley smirked and slid his blade closer around his captive's throat. He purred when David tensed.

"No, you can…" The vole swallowed. His gaze flicked between Cromley and David. "I'll let you go. Just…let him go, too."

David squirmed. "No, don't—"

"And what's to stop you running me through?"

"What about…" Kapler hesitated. His brow furrowed. "Just take me instead."

"No, Kapler!"

Growling a warning to David, Cromley raised his brow. These woodlanders were so oblivious. What better way to settle this score? "Very well, Kapler. Drop your sword and David's free."

Kapler wavered, his sword tip dipped, but he didn't let go. The vole squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. Cromley could see the conflict, the indecision. "I…" He licked his lips, not once meeting David's gaze. He glanced behind Cromley, towards the pond, at Cromley, his sword, the pond behind, the knife at David's neck, the pond…

Cromley twisted around in time to see that thrice-blasted vixen rushing forward, paw flicked forward. His arm whipped upwards to protect his face, and pain blossomed. The blade buried itself to the hilt, sticking out like some obscene bracelet. He staggered back, yowling, tail bottlebrushed.

His grip on David faltered, and the hedgehog surged away. "No!" Cromley lashed out with his sword, the satisfaction of a successful strike echoing down the hilt.

David gurgled and collapsed.

A scream, a primal snarl, wrenched itself from Kapler. Weapon above his head, he swung – an arc of coruscating death.

Only one way to dodge. Crouched, Cromley leapt towards the vole, kicking at his side. He could feel the crunch, the bones giving way. And then he was out the side gate, feet pounding as he ran into Mossflower, Vidya not ten paces behind.

* * *

White. Cold against his fur – welcome relief to the throbbing…somewhere. Kapler blinked heavily and started to lift himself out of the snow. Sharp pain lanced through his left side and he collapsed, breathless. Needles radiated out from his ribs, melting into a terrible ache through the rest of his body. It felt as if he had been hit with Russel's ballista. He cried.

"K-Kapler?"

David! Head jerking up, Kapler did his best to ignore the pain as he tried to find the hedgehog. It wasn't hard. He lay several paces away, a curled ball of drooping spines. The snow glistened scarlet.

"David." Kapler stared at the blood, a terrible weight settling. "You all right?"

He didn't answer right away, as if he was asking himself the same question. A shudder rippled through his spikes. "I don't know."

"Just…just wait." Kapler bit his lip, collecting himself, preparing for the effort. His whole body protested as he lifted himself out of the snow, nearly toppling over. Leaned over in a half crouch, he stumble walked over. "David." He touched a quivering spike. "David, let me…I need to take a look."

Slowly, like an herb in his father's teapot, David unfurled. A muddy stain spread across his tunic, darkest at the slashed, pulsing shoulder.

Kapler slumped to his knees and stifled a cry, sinking several inches into the slushy snow. Fingers gingerly pressing, he inspected the wound. It was warm and wet and told him nothing. What was he supposed to do?

"Need to…" David stopped, breathed deep, and tried again. "Need to stop the bleeding."

"Oh, ah, yes." Kapler slipped off his jacket with its many pockets and hidden treasures. A moment of hesitation, then coat to shoulder. It hurt his ribs to lean forward, his paw to push down, but it didn't matter. He had given up before, had run away. Teeth gnashed together, Kapler growled and pushed harder. Not again. Wouldn't let him down…

Paws tugged him from where he'd collapsed onto David. A calm voice murmured reassurances. Kapler blinked and peered at the surrounding woodlanders as he was set down in a clean patch of snow.

Both draped in heavy blankets, Jinck led Vivienne over. The mother bird looked sodden and skinny, down feathers soaked through. She sneezed. Jinck gave a damp smile.

Twoflower crouched down and inspected Kapler's bandaged paw. She glanced up. "How're you feeling, Mister Kapler?"

Kapler looked away, over to the healers tending to David. "Did he make it?"

"Well, he's still alive." Twoflower opened her bag and began pulling out jars and wraps. Kapler yelped and jerked away as she prodded his side. "Broken ribs. Nothing I can't fix."

Vidya stomped through the gate with a dour expression. Her fur was mussed and she looked as tired as Kapler felt. Seeing the questioning looks, she sighed and shook her head. "'e gave me th' slip in th' woods. Too many tracks t'make out 'is." An ear scratch and a settling onto haunches. "Doubt we'll ever see 'is 'ide again."

"I could have done more. Maybe…maybe if I had—"

Jinck bapped him on the shoulder with a paw. "Stop it. You did good."

Kapler tittered, then winced. They were exhausted, mangled, bruised – but alive.

Things were going to be all right.

end.


End file.
